


The Light

by Everliah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F, F/M, Literally everyone - Freeform, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, everyone dies!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 101
Words: 389,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everliah/pseuds/Everliah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of places, if one only remembers to turn on the light.' </p><p>[now completed, with epilogue up]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1- The Gatecrasher

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I can practically hear you:
> 
> *groans at the archetypal, cliche time-turner plot for a Marauder/Hermione fanfiction*
> 
> Yes, I groaned too.
> 
> But I PROMISE that I will try to make this more original and add something different for a little bit of spice!
> 
> I don't know how I will make this original or what that 'something different' will be, but a promise is a promise! And I'll cross my heart, just to prove the authenticity!
> 
> So please leave a review or send me a little mail telling me what pairings you want, what characters you'd like to see, what plot-twists you'd be interested in etc.
> 
>  
> 
> So yes! Thank you! I will love you forever for this, you are very lovely people!
> 
> ~please bear in mind also that I'm only 13, so I would really appreciate if you could give me some pointers on how to improve my writing skills~
> 
> Everliah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of places, if one only remembers to turn on the light.' [now completed, with epilogue. I am going to read it and edit it soon.]

** Chapter One- The Gatecrasher  **

****

** November 1977 **

The party roared in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Euphoria rolled over them in waves, suffocating and freeing all at once. There were horns blowing, sirens blaring, music reverberating through their bones, filling their ribs with a hollowing beat and making their teeth chatter. Marlene had somehow smuggled in Firewhiskey, and it frothed from glasses borrowed from the House Elves, and bottles swinging low in sweaty grips.

The House of the Lions celebrated, victory ringing in their ears and eyes, shining from beams and flushed cheeks. They had already forgotten the sight of Slytherin’s Seeker closing his hands around the Snitch, for that didn’t negate the fact that James Potter existed to grasp victory in the firm hold of his Chaser's gloves, reigniting their reign every time he potted the Quaffle through the hoops. In the end, it had been a close match. Slytherin had caught the Snitch, but they were no adversary for the skill and ease of the Gryffindor Chasers, who had already scored more than enough goals to start the Quidditch season with a bang.

Though the crowds of people consisted predominantly of Gryffindors, there was still the flash of yellow, or smile of blue, as girls danced, their hair tickling their eyelashes or tucked into their skirts, and boys chanted, egging each other on to drink as much alcohol as was feasibly possible in the given time. James relished the sight. His Head Boy badge gleamed from the front of his robes, and he found he quite liked this display of inter-house companionship. Of course, one house was notably absent. He pretended this wasn’t a big deal.

“Why are you sulking on the side-lines, Prongs? Don’t tell me you’ve become a wallflower,” Sirius Black appeared from the throng of people, two glasses of burning whiskey in hand. His grin was electric, and James felt his own lips split accordingly. There was something about the way Sirius grinned at you, with that fire in his eyes and ferocious glint of mischief. James knew it was more trouble than good… but he also supposed it was a good thing he didn’t mind a bit of trouble every once in a while.

“I’m too pretty a flower to be stuck on a wall,” he replied sincerely, accepting the drink and taking a sip. It was cold and scorching. He licked his lips, fighting off a grimace.

Sirius openly voiced his distaste. “Merlin, where did Marls steal this from? It tastes like my Mother’s medicine cabinet. You’d think she’d have better taste, for a girl like that.”

James shot him an amused look. Sirius’ lips remained curled in disgust, and he was mindful not to take another drink. He knew what Sirius meant however.

Marlene was red lips and smoky eyes. She was brash blonde hair and Muggle cigarettes that rested unlit between gleaming teeth and a sharp tongue that she wouldn’t hesitate to use if she thought you deserved it. Her nails were always a different colour, and she winked at everyone who dared stare for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

If James hadn’t known better, he would’ve pegged her as a wine person. Expensive wine, at that.

“You never answered my question,” Sirius pointed out.

“I’m affronted you called me sulking. I’m not sulking.”

“You look like you’re sulking.”

“I’m not.”

Sirius regarded his friend carefully. “Then why aren’t you getting pissed off you head like Moony?”

“I just-” James sighed, then stopped short. His eyes grew wide behind his glasses, and a surprised huff left him. “ _Moony’s_ drunk?”

“As a skunk,” responded Sirius, and there was an amused tilt to the corner of his mouth. James felt himself grin.

As if on cue, their third friend wandered over.

James threw a hand up in exasperation. “Now, where the fuck did he get the hat?”

Remus Lupin, though taller than the pair of them, was a gangly specimen, all limbs and golden hair that fanned across his eyes, and faint freckles you could only see if you were looking close enough, like a dusting of stars under a telescope. Normally, his demeanour was quiet and reserved, though a smirk threatened to perpetually curl his thin lips and his eyebrows would speak volumes more than his actual mouth. Tonight, it seemed his reservations had slipped and he stumbled from person to person, sporting an overly large straw hat.

His amber eyes lit up when he saw them, and he ambled over, arms wide, neck of a bottle between his long fingers, slurring, “What’s up, witches?”

“How much has he had to drink?” James demanded, torn between being amused and chastising.

Sirius shrugged, lowering his voice ever so slightly to say, “Amplified magical blood, hasn’t he? He was drunk from the first glass.”

“Lightweight,” James shook his head disapprovingly. Then, he raised his voice, “You’re pissed aren’t you?”

Remus just tapped his head with the bottle of Firewhiskey and shouted, “I can’t hear you! Music’s too loud.”

James narrowed his eyes. Surely, the werewolf hearing was capable of picking out his voice from the screams and blare of the music. Remus didn’t seem to care, however, and was leaning against Sirius, who had an arm slung around his waist, and one hand splayed across his stomach, keeping him upright.

Sirius was watching him cautiously. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have spiked his drink.”

James’ head shot to look at him. “You did _what?_ ”

Sirius recoiled defensively and exclaimed, “Peter was passing me the drinks! I just passed them on!”

“To a werewolf with amplified magical blood who would be affected tenfold?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” called Sirius over the din.

James’ eyes surveyed the crowds, and a small frown laced his eyebrows together. “Where is Peter anyway?”

Sirius didn’t seem as concerned, for his attention only flitted then returned to the werewolf who was nuzzling into the top of his head. “Last I saw him, he was plucking up the courage to ask Mary out-”

James’ eyebrows raised at this development. “Did he?”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “-and then running in the opposite direction.”

“Coward,” James remarked fondly.

“Absolute chickenshit,” he agreed.

“Black!” The two boys turned their heads in the direction of the voice. There looked to be some kind of game brewing in front of the fire. Frank Longbottom, a portly boy in the year below waved at them. “Do you want in?”

Sirius yelled back, “In what?”

“We’re Gryffindors,” Mary MacDonald laughed. Her tight black curls bounced around her shoulders. “What do you think?”

Sirius didn’t reply, merely turned to raise his eyebrows at his brother. It could only be a game of dares, the dastardly kind that had you scaling the Gryffindor Tower because some Hufflepuff said you couldn’t. James exhaled deeply. He didn’t feel like risking his life tonight in favour of imminent death, but he had a reputation to uphold.

“We practically invented the game,” he conceded. Sirius grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.

He left his full glass on the nearest table, and followed Sirius, and a still-stumbling Remus. There was something in his stomach, something fluttering just below his ribs. It was almost like the feeling he got when he was flying, that whirlwind of emotions, of the anxiety, thrill and freedom all at once, but this was… different, somehow. No matter how hard he tried, James couldn’t shake this.

Sirius stopped suddenly, as if reading his mind, and turned to him.

“You didn’t finish,” he prompted, holding his arm so he couldn’t escape.

James pressed his lips into a line, and his eyes flitted around the room. Almost absently, they found _her_. Red hair glinted in the golden light, and even though there was an ocean full to the brim with noise between them, he swore he could hear her laugh, and her laugh only. He murmured, “I feel like something is about to happen.”

“Something bad?” his friend pressed, fingers squeezing his elbow reassuringly.

James met his eye. “Something big.”

The party swallowed them once more, and the music came back booming, louder than before. Sirius didn’t break the eye contact, until the throng of people surrounding them forced him to let go of James’ arm and they were barrelled into the centre of the room.

The game commenced. They were mainly Gryffindors, although a few Ravenclaws had deemed themselves brave enough to take part. They didn’t last long, however, and soon melted into the wall of spectators who watched with bated breath and anticipating eyes. Gryffindor games were renowned, but when the Marauders played, they were legendary.

Granted, James had to put his foot down to a few, flashing his Head Boy badge when Marlene was dared to levitate herself outside of the window for as long as she could, and again when William Walters was told to kiss the leader of the merpeople. Yes, it was fun but _Merlin’s Beard_ , nobody was going to die under his watch.

The scale of the game plummeted after that, and he took very little notice, until a Fifth Year with dark curls and arched brows, said, "I dare you, Sirius, to make someone fall for you. Show me what you’ve got, self-proclaimed Casanova of the school."

James refrained from rolling his eyes. Remus snorted with disdain, but he sat up a bit straighter, and the drunkenness seemed to slip from him. Sirius’ ears turned red, and the blush spread down the expanse of his neck. He opened his mouth, reply ready to slither from his tongue with an easy smirk-

A blinding light disturbed the party. Everyone fell quiet.

It seemed like a storm had broken out inside the common room, and yet, whilst it was impossible, there was something darker to the magic that swirled on the ceiling. A streak of lightening shot down, and a few people nearby screamed, jumping out of the way.

A low, rumbling noise began building up, along with a roaring wind, snaking through the crowd of students who were rigid in their fright. Then, an abrupt ripping noise tore through the room, deafening and loud. People covered their ears with their hands, crouching to try and hide from the sound, but to no avail.

It sobered James up immediately, who got to his feet and looked around.

"It's okay! Just stay still! Nobody move! It will just be a prank, nothing mor-"

The ceiling of smoke opened up and a black hole appeared.

Then, a girl dropped through and landed on none other than Sirius Black's lap.

The storm cleared, and the wind stopped. James leaned over his friend's shoulder, blinking back his disbelief.

"You know Pads, when she said get someone to fall for you… I don't think she meant literally."

**oOoOoOo**

The Hospital Wing had been in disarray ever since Sirius Black, James Potter and Remus Lupin had burst through the doors, carrying an unconscious girl, who was covered in dirt and fresh blood. Madam Pomfrey had almost had a fit, and had bustled about, ushering Sirius (who was carrying her bridal style) to lay her on a bed.

That was about thirty minutes ago.

Now, the three seventh years were slumped in separate chairs around the bed in question. They had definitely never seen the girl before, even though she looked to be about their age. She had brown hair that had been shoved into a ponytail some time ago, and long tendrils matted with all sorts of dirt curled around her face. Her skin was browned by mud and grime, and there was a hard edge to the tension by her eyes and the grimace by her lips. Her clothes had been torn and ripped beyond recognition, but Madam Pomfrey had changed her into one of the customary Hospital dresses.

Remus was sat closest to her. His hand was massaging his head, and he was silently staring at the floor. Despite his previous intoxication, he was keenly aware, and the only indication he had been drunk at all was the banging headache he was trying to soothe.

Sirius was leaning back, his eyes glued to the girl's face. He didn’t move.

James remained standing, biting his nails and pacing every now and then.

"James, stop it. You're giving me a migraine," Remus said quietly. He did stop, shooting his friend a worried glance. Sirius’ eyes slid from the girl to his friend sharply.

"I'm fine," the prefect said, waving his hand in dismissal. "I can’t believe you didn’t stop me after the first drink. You, of all people, should know the effect it has on…” he broke off, coughing, “those like me."

Sirius’ eyes lingered on him, before he looked back at the girl.

Remus frowned, reaching up to run his hand through his hair when he paused. Slowly, he pulled the straw hat from his head. He stared at it, then alternated his gaze to the two boys in front of him.

Incredulous, he asked, “Where did I get the hat?”

At this, and only because the whole thing was so absurd, and the fluttering in his stomach, at that point just below his ribs was going _wild_ now, James began laughing. It was high and breathless, and maybe a bit more worried than he wanted it to be. Sirius’ eyes darted to him in surprise, before his lips gave way to a grin. Even Remus, though he sighed through his nose, allowed a small smile.

And then the girl shot up in bed.

Sirius swore, clutching onto the nearest thing, which happened to be James. Remus stared in surprise at her. Their laughter dried on the lips.

"I-I-" she stuttered, looking around the room quickly, her eyes darting to and from every detail. They saw Sirius first and her mouth dropped. "Sirius," she breathed and tears filled her brown eyes. "I-you- oh my."

A shaking hand reached up to wipe away a stray tear, and she closed her eyes briefly.

"Are you quite alright?" Remus asked softly, leaning forward so that he wouldn't startle her by speaking loudly. She jolted, alarmed, and stared at him. It seemed his tiredness had slid from his slim frame, for he was much more careful now.

"Remus."

He blanched. "How do you know our names?"

But she hadn't heard him.

"We lost, Remus. We lost. I don't understand. Harry was doing so well, we thought we had them all but-! _Oh God._ We should’ve known. How could we not know? How could we not-"

"You need to calm down," James interrupted gently, stepping forward. The girl stopped speaking and looked at him with wide eyes. There was a moment where her breath audibly caught in the air.

_"Harry!”_

His name was a breathless, wondrous whisper. The girl looked at him with wide, brown eyes, enraptured in a sort of disbelieving awe, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Oh my god. Harry, you're okay. You're alive! I thought- I thought-"

What she thought, they didn't hear, as she threw back the covers, swung her legs off of the bed and launched herself into James' arms.

James didn't know what else to do. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to make soothing noises. "It's okay, it's okay. I've got you. You're safe now."

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed.

She pulled away to smile and wipe her cheeks when she froze. Her face was the epitome of fading hope, and she recoiled, frowning deeply.

"You're not Harry," she whispered, her voice broken, her face red from the tears.

James blushed, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, no. I'm James. James Potter."

"James…" A flurry of emotions played across her face, conflicting ones that Sirius only caught in snippets; confusion, dread, fear, revelation and most prominent, a deep sadness. Then she frowned again. Her brain was whirring, too many cogs turning at once. "James…Sirius," at each boy's name, she spun around and looked at them. "Remus."

Sirius watched her curiously, bewildered by her actions. He moved forward, cringing when she bristled at his proximity. "What's your name?" He asked delicately, edging closer still.

"I-" the girl paused. Then she laughed weakly. "I don't know whether that's a good idea."

Sirius tried to smile. "Why not? Little unfair, don't you think? How you know our names, but we don't know yours. By the way, I'm Sirius Orion Black the Third."

"I know," she mumbled. She looked him in the eye then, and she looked so scared and innocent and fragile and Sirius just wanted to hold her.

"I'm Remus John Lupin," Remus spoke up from the other side of the bed, then he blushed when they all turned to look at him. Sirius cracked a smile, and he looked away. "If you wanted to know."

The girl smiled. "Professor R. J. Lupin," she whispered sadly, faltering. And she let out another small laugh.

Then she twirled around gingerly and curtsied. James glanced cautiously at Sirius who looked alarmed. Remus thought she looked a little delirious, if he was honest.

But still, she smiled slightly- it never reached her eyes- and said, "I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I just want to point out that I have altered this chapter (if you've already read this). I originally set this in October, but now that I've actually written quite a bit, I think this timescale is far too long and starts too early for what I want to do. There are no other major changes, just the fact that now, instead of October, it says November! 
> 
> If there is any advice you can give me on my writing, I'd really appreciate that. I'm a 14 (13 when I started this story) year old aspiring author so I need all the help I can get! Thank you very much!


	2. Chapter 2- The Saviour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!!! Woo!  
> I'm really sorry if there are any mistakes, I've put this up in a bit of a rush but I'll definitely read over it tomorrow!  
> Was this okay? I can't tell whether or not they were in character or if I'm being a little bit dramatic with them, so please tell me if this is okay by leaving a comment!  
> I'll love you forever!

**Chapter Two- The Saviour**

 

Hermione hadn’t let the three boys out of her sight since she had woken up.

After she had told them her name (hesitantly, mind you- she still wasn’t too sure whether it was a good idea or not), they had somehow convinced her to climb back into bed.

Hermione hadn’t wanted to just lay down and be complacent, but Remus especially had seemed overly concerned, as he fluffed her pillow and fussed with the thin sheet covering her frail body.

They were still by her side, now.

Sirius’ eyes hadn’t left her face, so she pointedly ignored his gaze. This was harder said than done, as she could feel it prickling her skin. In any other situation, under any other circumstances, she would be blushing like a young schoolgirl at the fact that she held an attractive boy’s attention. But Hermione couldn’t revel in this.

James seemed too nervous to really look at her. Probably because she had greeted him with an unrequited familiarity and love, and had made him feel too uncomfortable. She didn’t blame him, to be completely honest, but she couldn’t help but stare at him for a while to calm herself down, before the novelty of his likeliness to her best friend wore off, and she was left feeling even more depressed.

Out of all of them, Remus was the one that Hermione felt closest to. That was ridiculous, of course. She had known the middle-aged Remus, not the teenage one. But it was close enough. He was shifting in his seat on her right, massaging the bridge of his nose.

Sighing deeply, Hermione dropped her head onto the pillow behind her. Remus’ head snapped to look at her. Sirius looked concerned.

“I’m okay,” she said quietly, sensing their worry. She almost laughed. Almost, but not quite.

Her situation wasn’t what you’d call amusing, and it felt silly to laugh. She needed answers. She needed to know what happened, and how she could get back to-

Tears filled Hermione’s eyes.

She nearly choked on the heartbroken sob that was crawling up her throat, but knew that if she reacted the boys would no doubt call for Madam Pomfrey and she would be subjected to questions she could not answer just yet. Luckily, she had somehow managed to persuade them that an hour or so of solitude would do her good, so they refrained from alerting the nurse of her state.

Hermione had grabbed hold of Sirius’ sleeve when he had first stood up and whilst the boy had looked shocked, he understood the silent plea in her eyes and had sat back down.  
Stay. Please.

Now, though, she was left as a victim of her own mind and the thoughts from her last life.

They had been doing so well.

They had been _winning_.

How had it all just stopped? How had it just switched?

How had the Light been winning one moment and in the next, been spinning in a downward spiral of loss?

She didn’t know. But she did know one thing:

Harry had been a Horcrux.

Hermione had no idea how Dumbledore didn’t know and she felt confused, sure, but most of all, she felt angry. A red-hot writhing anger that burned her veins. How could Dumbledore selfishly condemn a child to death? The old man had left Harry all alone to fight for the entire Wizarding world, without so much as a point in the right direction. In the end, it had been Snape who Hermione felt obligated to thank. Harry owed him his life, and so she felt like she too owed him hers.  
Harry.

She could remember her black-haired friend, although the image was hazy; like a memory in a dream, nothing more. His eyes haunted her. Every time she closed her own, the nightmare of green framed by black imprinted itself on the back of her lids. They looked sad and tortured and she hated herself for being here, for breathing, for living.

Because Harry was dead.

A stray tear fell and she cursed herself for crying. But she had the right to cry, Hermione argued with herself; her best friend was dead.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

_The Final Battle had been no closer to ending, even after Harry Potter had been declared dead by Voldemort. The Light side still fought on valiantly, but whilst they were determined, they were disheartened. Hermione had run to the only place she could think of in that moment; the Room of Requirement._

_Thankfully, the last of the students had been evacuated out through Ariana’s portrait, and as she paced in front of the wall, the only thought that came to Hermione’s head was home, take me home._

_The door had opened. And home turned out to be the Gryffindor Common Room._

_It was unscathed; a state Hermione remembered only vaguely from the year previous. Had it only been a year? It seemed like much longer._

_The floor was cluttered though, with the quirky miscellaneous objects that had been stacked up the last time she, Harry and Ron had been in the Room. She frowned._  
_Why was the room like this? It seemed as though it was somehow caught in between two different people’s requirements, and if she focused on one point for a long time, she could see it glitch between both existences._

_It had hit her suddenly. She could remember the feeling of revelation, like she had been doused in cold water. If it was torn between two people’s requirements, then there must be two people to require._

_“Hello Granger,” the voice drawled and Hermione recognised it instantly._

_Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall, looking cool and composed, but the paleness of his face gave his true feeling away. He was scared._

_“Draco.”_

_The use of his first name noticeably threw him of guard._

_“Don’t do that Granger,” he said lowly, detaching himself and moving to stand a few metres directly in front of her._

_“Don’t do what?” Hermione asked, her voice soft, but her hand hovered over her wand._

_“Don’t speak to me like we’re friends. You know we’re not.”_

_“Draco-”_

_“We are on different sides of the war, Granger! If we were two different people, then we would be killing one another!”_

_“But we’re not,” Hermione replied. “We’re not two different people. We’re still the same people, just older-”_

_“No, we’re not! We’re not-” he broke off, faltering. His face crumpled._

_She felt for him then. That’s right. In that moment, Hermione Granger felt sorry for Draco Malfoy. Because she realised that he wasn’t a bad kid, he wasn’t a Death Eater; he was just a scared little boy. He hadn’t made the wrong choices; he was the one who never even had a choice._

_She felt for him because, in essence, he was just like Harry._

_A sound echoed outside, and a chorus of ragged voices followed. Hermione frowned, not recognising any of them. She didn’t have to wonder whether they were friend or foe, though, as Draco’s face became scared and his eyes darted to the doorway before back to her._

_“-sure she came this way, Dolohov?”_

_“Positive. Can’t mistake that bushy bird’s nest of hers.”_

_Laughter. Malicious, cackling laughter._

_“What does the Dark Lord even want her for? Why can’t he just settle for Potter and let us have our fun?” The voice sounded petulant. There was a crack, and an exclamation of pain. “Whatd’youdothatfor?”_

_“You know why,” the second Death Eater, Dolohov, snarled. “The Mudblood is a spoil of war! The Dark Lord wants her alive and unscathed because he has plans for her. She’s Potter’s best friend; think of how that specky little bastard would feel if his worst enemy defiled his prissy little girlfriend!”_

_Hermione felt sick. She knew what they were implying, and by the commotion outside, they were close to her. Too close for comfort._

_She glanced at Draco. His skin had whitened considerably, which she would have thought impossible, but he looked frightened. He looked terrified. His wand was pointing at her, and she was alarmed at how he had managed to corner her without her knowledge._

_“I-”_

_If Draco was the one who delivered her to Voldemort, then it sounded as though he would be gifted. She had let him trick her by playing the innocent card. How had she been so blind?_

_Hermione recoiled._

_“How could you?” She asked, almost hurt._

_Draco looked shocked, then bewildered, then wounded. “No!” He cried, putting his wand down. “No! Please, Granger! I didn’t know, I was already here! I didn’t know they wanted you, please!”_

_She felt suspicion settle in her stomach, although it was ebbing away by the distraught expression on his face. He wasn’t that good of an actor. No one could fake that._

_“I don’t understand…” Hermione trailed off. “If you didn’t, then why-?”_

_“I-” He looked uncomfortable._

_“Draco?” Hermione questioned. There was a softness to his features, and a tilt to his eyes and mouth._

_“I-I lo-”_

_The door opened, and the voices became louder and closer. The two Death Eaters came into view._

_Draco stopped speaking and shot a startled look towards them. His eyes were red and the skin of his face was blotchy._

_After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion; the two men spotted Hermione and adopted a ferocious demeanour, Draco noticed and spun back to face her. His eyes had pleaded, and there was something in them that she couldn’t decipher. His lips mouthed something._

_“I’m sorry, Hermione.”_

_A flash of purple light erupted from the tip of his wand and she let out a small ‘Oh’ before falling backwards, onto a pile of unusual items. There was a crack. An enraged scream. And Hermione felt herself moving and moving and spinning and twisting and turning and falling, always falling._

_The last thing she saw was Draco Malfoy’s lifeless body hitting the floor; his last emotion printed on his young face._

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

“Hey,” Sirius said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Hermione was jolted out of her reverie by his fingers, which were gently wiping away the tears on her cheeks. She sniffed, trying to breathe and think clearly, but finding it too hard.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

And she did know. Whatever Draco had done had saved her life. Sirius smiled at her, and she really did feel better by the warmness of the gesture.

“Where’s Peter?” James suddenly asked and Hermione was thrown off. She scowled slightly at the mention of the boy that would betray Harry’s parents. She wanted to jump out of bed and shake James by the shoulders until he saw sense, but that was wishful thinking.

“I don’t know,” Remus replied. “I think I last saw him passed out underneath the armchair as a-” The word rat went unsaid, although Hermione knew. Remus broke off laughing awkwardly, shooting her a glance. “I could be wrong though, I was heavily intoxicated at the time, thanks to you two imbeciles.”

“Why, Moony! Are you purposefully bad-mouthing us in front of this pretty lady?” Sirius asked in mock-offence.

“You know, Padfoot, I think he is! And here, Remus! Mr. Because. I’m. A. Prefect. I. Now. Have. To. Listen. To. Teachers. And. Do. As. I’m. Told! You told me I was pretty!” James cried, leaning on Sirius’ shoulder as he pretended to sob. “He told me I was pretty!”

“I know, I know, Prongsie! Don’t worry your little head, you are pretty,” Sirius consoled, patting his friend on the back lovingly.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Swear it?”

“Swear it.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Pinkie swear-?”

“Merlin’s Beard James, you’re gorgeous! Now, please shut up!” Remus interrupted, sharing an exasperated look with Hermione who was deeply amused by their theatrics. “They are, at this precise moment in time, how you say ‘pissed as a badger’s fart’.”

“My, my. It seems my presence is not needed here. Mister Potter, Black, Lupin; you seem to be properly welcoming our guest.”

The voice had three heads shooting towards the doorway, from which it came. Hermione, on the other hand, looked down at her entwined hands, feeling conflicted about the new arrival. Remus blushed at having been caught cursing by the headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore strode over to her bed, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey. As soon as the matron was within two meters of her, she began bustling about, forcing as many vile potions down Hermione’s throat as possible.

She grimaced, pulling a face as the liquid scorched her throat. Sirius shifted uncomfortably.

The nurse’s attention became too much, she was obviously checking every inch of Hermione’s body for some sort of wound. She was inching closer and closer to the scar on her forearm, closer and closer to something that Hermione wanted desperately to hide. All the scars from the war were on the lower half of her body, thankfully, but Madam Pomfrey wasn’t finished searching.

Sirius and James were staring at Dumbledore, waiting to hear his verdict on the whole situation, but Remus’ attention was fixed on her. He could sense her discomfort, and her unwillingness at being fussed over. Hermione’s agitation increased as the matron went to lift up her dress sleeve.

“Poppy,” Remus spoke up, not realising he had used her first name (which he only knew from Sirius, who knew practically everything about every female in the school). “Poppy, stop.”

Madam Pomfrey did stop, but she did so with an affronted expression. Shocked, she glanced at Dumbledore. “Albus, I- Mr. Lupin, that is no way to speak to an adult! I-”

“No, Poppy. I believe Mr. Lupin here is quite right. The girl has obviously been through quite the ordeal. Perhaps we should give her some space.”

The nurse muttered under her breath, but otherwise stepped away, retreating to her office, rambling about some potion or other

“Miss-?”

“Granger,” Hermione supplied quietly, staring at her Headmaster for the first time in so long. Her throat felt clogged, and even though she did not trust him for the actions he had yet to complete, the familiar twinkling in his blue eyes made something inside of her wrench. She had to smile.

“Miss Granger. Of course, you would understand my surprise when I was informed that a young girl, about the age of a student, fell from the Gryffindor Common Room ceiling, looking as though she had fought in a war.” Dumbledore’s eyes didn’t miss how the girl’s shoulders stiffened at this. “How did you come to be in this state, Miss Granger?”

Hermione paused, mulling over her options. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him part of the truth. She was far too tired to think of a full excuse, and he would see through any lie she shot at him.

“I was in a war,” she said, in a soft tone of voice. Sirius stared at her. James gaped. Remus looked too alarmed to properly react. “But not how you would expect, Professor.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in that mild, only slightly interested way of his. “Oh?”

“I-” she broke off, eyes flicking to the three boys in the room. He noticed.

“Boys, if you wouldn’t mind. I think that it would be wise for Miss Granger and I to talk, alone.”

James looked at Hermione, silently asking if she would be okay. She felt touched, and nodded with a small smile. Almost reluctantly, they left the Hospital Wing. As soon as the door slammed to a close, Dumbledore cast a spell that she recognised as a sound-proofing one, and turned his full attention on her.

Hermione didn’t know where to begin.

“I find the beginning is a good place to start, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore offered quietly, almost reading her mind and offering her an encouraging smile. She nearly laughed at the irony.

“Well, if you want to be technical, then I suppose this is the beginning.” At his frown, she continued. “I was in a war, Professor. But you, of all people, should know that no war is currently taking place. At least, not in this time. In another, however…”

Hermione was glad that the Headmaster was an intelligent man, and would understand the riddle she presented, so that she wouldn’t have to admit aloud. As silly as it sounded, saying it aloud made it real.

“You are from the future.”

She nodded, closing her eyes.

He just made it real.

“Professor, I’m sorry. I can’t-”

Dumbledore held up a hand. “Miss Granger, I do not wish for you to tell me anything now. You have quite obviously been through a traumatic tribulation, and I would not wish to make you relive that. However, you must understand the danger you will be in. If words gets out about your… predicament, many people will be after your knowledge, and will use less than savoury means in acquiring it… What I am trying to say is perhaps it would be best for you to remain at Hogwarts.” Whatever he was going to say, Hermione had not been expecting this. A rush of emotions overwhelmed her. Then, she felt sick. How could she go to school, and act as though everything was normal when she had just witnessed her friends and platonic family die in these very halls? “You have already met James, Sirius and Remus, who seem to genuinely care for your well-being…”

“Could I- Could I consider this? I mean, there have been many…” Hermione uttered, momentarily lost for words.

“Of course. I understand, Miss Granger. Until you have made your decision, I do believe your Hospital attire would make you stand out like a sore thumb, as dear Muggles do say. Not to mention, it would make it exceptionally hard for you to escape Madam Pomfrey.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile slightly, although it didn’t reach her eyes. Dumbledore waved his wand and the stationary dress transformed into a Gryffindor uniform. She felt the fabric, an onslaught of memories attacking her at once from the nostalgia of the outfit.

Swallowing, she nodded her thanks.

Gingerly, Hermione stepped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand, which was resting on the bedside table. She felt at peace.

And it was this thought that stopped her in her tracks. Guilt overwhelmed her thoughts, threatening to choke her. How could she be doing this? How could she be acting as though everything was alright, and as if she hadn’t just witnessed her closest allies fall before her, for a cause as corrupt as the man who led it?

The man stood in front of her now.

Hermione’s back stiffened.

Hesitating only a little, she began to walk out of the Hospital Wing, not finding the energy or courage to stay any longer with Albus Dumbledore. But he knew. Of course he knew.  
"Oh, and Miss Granger," Hermione paused, mere inches from the door, looking back at him. "Bad things happen to those who meddle with time," Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he warned her lightly.

Hermione stared at him for a little longer, remembering the last time she heard those words, and wondering what the hidden message was in them. He always had a hidden message. He always believed that people could figure out riddles, even when they couldn’t. But she could. Oh, Hermione Granger was not known as The Brightest Witch of her Generation for nothing! She would show him she was capable.

But not now.

Hermione carried on walking, keen to get away from the situation as fast as possible.

"Whatever I have done, or will do to you in the future, I apologise. Surely you cannot condemn a man for something he has not done?"

Hermione froze. So he did know.

Dumbledore had registered her abrupt change in attitude towards him.

"With all due respect sir," she smiled politely, turning to face him, and she felt sad, "you are still the same man now as you are then. Forgive me for being weary of that information."

And she walked out of the Hospital Wing.


	3. Chapter 3- The Requirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so so so SO sorry this is shorter than the others! They won't all be like this, but I didn't want to force content, so I'll just have to update sooner than later to make up for this horribly short chapter!
> 
> Also, I know it might sound a bit strange with Peter's appearance, but that's my take on him because I reckon that he only got fat when he was a rat practically scrounging and stealing of The Weasleys.
> 
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading!
> 
> Everliah
> 
> :)

** Chapter 3- The Come-and-Go Room **

 

Sirius paced.

James had tried calming him down, but nothing seemed to work on the agitated seventh year. He ran a hand through his hair, casting a glance at the doors. The large entryway of Hogwarts was swathed in shadows, and moonlight spilled in through the higher windows. Other than that, the only light available was distributed from the many candles that were floating in brackets on the wall.

Remus remained in the shadows, watching Sirius. His shadowed eyes trailed back and forth.

“She hasn’t really fought in a war, has she?” James said in a small voice, looking between the two of his friends. He shook his head, hair flying everywhere. “She’s too little.”

Sirius would have laughed. He had heard Prongs describe many girls with a colourful plethora of adjectives, but never ‘little’, and never with so much compassion. Only emptiness and silence answered him, and the boys were struck with how strange it was that whilst the entire school was sleeping soundly, they were waiting for a girl who had fallen out of the ceiling.

“Do you think she’ll stay here?” Remus asked quietly, and inquisitive as always. Sirius stopped moving.

To be honest, the question threw him off. Would she stay here? If she was telling the truth about fighting in a war, then where else would be safe for her? Where else but Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s watchful eye?

Everyone knew he was the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of.

But why did he even care? Realistically, they’d only known the girl for about an hour. Why did he care if she was safe or not?

He gulped. This aloof attitude did not become him, and he couldn’t even fool himself.

The doors opened suddenly, and the object of his thoughts walked out. Sirius blushed.

Hermione looked healthier than she had when they had left her, with a slight colour to her cheeks. But he noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. Why didn’t it reach her eyes?

“I see you’ve gotten changed,” James commented, winking. He walked up to her and played with the end of the tie. Sirius caught a slight wince, but otherwise she stayed still. “Good choice. You’ll like it in Gryffindor, _where dwell the brave at heart!”_

He said the last bit dramatically, his eyes and fingers never leaving her tie. The other two shared a glance. James had never been noticeably nervous around a girl other than Lily.  
Hermione smiled slightly, reaching up to put her hand on his. This seemed to jolt him out of his reverie, and his ears went pink and he coughed and stepped away. He really was like Harry, and it broke and melted her heart at the same time.

“So,” Sirius said, grinning. “D’you want us to lead the way to the Common Room?”

She shifted uncomfortably at the thought of having to be around more people, and the fact that the Common Room was somewhere that she wanted to avoid for as long as possible. Futile as it may sound, she wasn’t yet ready to watch the blonde boy die in front of her again and again. She cleared her throat, feeling faint. “Actually,” Hermione began. “I’d rather not have to be around anyone at the moment…”

Remus nodded understandingly, then frowned. “Where would you like to go?”

This surprised her. “O-oh. You don’t have to-”

“Don’t be silly, love,” Sirius replied smoothly. “We’re not about to leave you alone. Especially in a big and draughty castle like this! Who knows what monsters roam these very halls?”

Remus looked away.

“Sirius is right! You, fair maiden, happen to be in the fortunate company of The Marauders! Well, three of us, at least. And we know everything about this school!” James added happily.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile softly at them. “Lead the way then, my knights!” She replied jokingly, laughing as James and Sirius immediately sprang into life and galloped down the corridor acting, true to their title, like marauding knights. Remus shook his head, but was grinning as he offered her his arm.

She took it.

It was only too late when she realised that they were heading to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione attempted to pull her arm away, but Remus simply took her hand instead, looking at her with sincere amber eyes.

“We’re not going in,” he assured. “We’re just retrieving Peter. It’s not exactly fair on us to leave him alone to fend the Sixth Years.” At her confused look, he said, “They seem to find it amusing to turn him purple.”

Hermione, despite hating the Peter Pettigrew she was accustomed to, could not help but laugh at the image presented. Remus cracked a grin, his eyes soft.

The portrait hole swung open and out came the two dark-haired boys, with a slightly scrawnier boy who was wiping his eyes. He yawned.

“Peter, this is Hermione,” Sirius introduced, before adding with a cheeky wink, “she fell for me.”

Peter’s watery blue eyes popped out of his head, but he smiled at her still, a genuine smile, and waved lopsidedly in greeting.

If Hermione was honest, this wasn’t what she had expected the young Pettigrew to look like. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t plump, but skinny beyond belief. The bones in his body were protuberant, and she could easily see where he got his rat-animagus from. His nose was pointy, his ears were large and his lips small.

He was extremely short when compared to James and Sirius, who easily stood at about six foot. He practically drowned in Remus’ shadow, who towered above all of them.

They set off slowly down the corridor, and Hermione frowned when she realised that they were, for some reason, walking in the exact opposite direction to the Room of Requirement. She stopped walking, causing Remus to be wrenched backwards suddenly; his lanky frame being catapulted easily.

He spun around and looked at her with wide eyes. “Hermione…?”

Her mind on overdrive, she said quickly, “This isn’t the way to the Come-and-Go Room, is it?”

Remus cocked his head. “The what?”

“The Come-and-Go Room. The room Professor Dumbledore told me about when you left. I asked him for a personal suggestion and he said that. I assumed that’s where we were going.”

He considered this for a minute, before turning his head and calling, “James, Sirius, Peter. Come back here one minute.”

They complied, frowning too when Remus asked curiously, “Have any of you ever heard of the Come-and-Go Room?”

Sirius and James glanced at each other. Peter shook his head, hands deep in his pockets and yawned again. Her lips tilted at how dopey and cute he looked. Then she backtracked. Cute? Never in her other life would she have described Peter Pettigrew as cute. But he was, in an innocent and hamster-like way.

“Hermione tells me that Dumbledore mentioned it, as a quiet place.”

Their attention switched to her.

“I thought that you knew…” she trailed off, mentally congratulating herself on her quick-thinking.

“No…” James said thoughtfully, racking his brain for any mention of this room. He pouted suddenly. “If Old Dumblydore told you about this secret room, then we better start sucking up fast! He knows more than he’s letting on! It would be great for the-” _Map_.

Hermione nearly grinned. They were careful. To anyone else, it would seem they had just forgotten something useless, or were rambling about something nonsensical, but that was the second time they had almost slipped up, and Hermione knew them. Or at least, she would in twenty years’ time.

“Show us this Come-and-Go Room then, kitten,” Sirius said, grinning impishly. She did, turning on her heel and taking one or two small steps before she faltered, remembering that she shouldn’t know where she was going.

“He said it was on the Seventh Floor, opposite a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet…” They looked at her blankly. “I don’t know where that is,” Hermione said slowly, waggling her head a little to emphasise her point. “I’m new, remember?”

They erupted into action, brushing past her and leading her down the way they had come. She followed behind, feeling more and more relaxed as she familiarised herself with the stone walls that had encompassed and protected her since she was eleven years old. She had not participated in the battle up here.

Within seconds, they were stood outside the tapestry. She could feel their eyes burning into her, curious and confused. This only increased as Hermione began pacing outside the wall, biting her thumb and thinking of solace.

This time, Hermione knew, the room wouldn’t take on the form of the Gryffindor Common Room. There were too many bad memories concerning that place.

As expected, the wooden doors began to form, and without looking at the marvelled expressions of shock imprinted on the four boys’ faces, she entered the Room of Requirement.

What she required, turned out to be a library of some sort.

Bookcases as high as the ceiling lined the perimeter, crammed full of browning pages. A fireplace, equipped with a crackling orange fire, broke the line of shelves to the right. In front of which were three comfortable-looking couches, shaded a coffee colour that complimented the darkness of the wood, and danced yellow in the firelight.

Hermione sighed in bliss.

Even Remus’ lips quirked upwards.

Sirius and James raised their eyebrows and groaned. “Really? A bloody library?”

“Oh dear lord,” James cried, closing his eyes and pulling a wounded face. “It seems that Remus is now not only the only book-lover in our midst!”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed in mock-horror. “They will most assuredly get married and have lots of bookworm babies! Oh Pete, however will we cope?” The shaggy-haired boy flopped  
onto Peter’s shoulder, who looked vaguely amused in his sleepy state.

“I don’t know, but I think you’ve tortured them enough, looking at their blushing faces,” Peter said, before shrugging his friend’s head off and walking over to the smallest sofa.

Remus and Hermione glanced at each other and, true to Peter’s word, saw that they both were sporting prominent blushes that in turn, made their faces and neck go even pinker.

“You like books?” Remus asked, trying to break the tension. He was nervous, and although he was the tallest of them all, at six foot two, he seemed to have the smallest presence. Russet coloured hair was draped across his forehead, and thin, almost invisible scars ran down his face. Hermione couldn’t help but think he was rather good-looking, in a less than conventional way.

She smiled. “Of course. Ron used to say that if I could, I would probably marry a book! Which was ironic, as everyone knew that I loved-”

Him.

She loved him.

But she couldn’t admit it aloud. Her face dropped, and the flicker of life in her eye was doused in something dark. Hermione had no idea whether she had left behind a boyfriend… or a corpse.

She had run. Run so fast away from the scene that she had not even bothered to see if Ron was okay. He’d lost a best friend too. And now, she realised with a hollowing sense of regret, he’d lost a girlfriend as well.

Hermione might have lost herself in the past. But Ron had lost everything in the present.

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

A gentle touch made her open them again, and amber eyes were staring at her intently. His thumb brushed against her cheek and Hermione felt tears cloud her eyes, her resolve crumbling.

She couldn’t pretend.

She couldn’t do this, and pretend that everything was okay, and normal, and the same when it wasn’t.

Everything was royally fucked up.

And Hermione had only just grasped that.

She was barely aware of Remus leading her over to where the other three were sat. Barely aware of him sitting her down, and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel his arm around her, hugging her close, and the warmth from the flames in the hearth crawled up her skin. His breath kissed the stray hair and the shell of her ear as he whispered over and over again, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

And that was how Hermione Granger fell asleep; in the Room of Requirement, in the company of a werewolf, a traitor, a convict and a carcass.

**oOoOo**

As soon as Hermione’s breathing evened out, Remus tore his eyes away from her face to look at his friends.

They were all staring at him.

Sirius’ eyes strayed to the sleeping girl every now and then, before he shook his head and stretched out on the armchair that had been conjured. “What the hell happened to her?” He asked sadly.

“I don’t know,” Remus replied, shifting to try and get into a more comfortable position, and Sirius’ eyes landed back on him. He traced the sharp cheekbones and jaw, lingered on every freckle. “But whatever it was, I don’t think it’s fair for her to mourn alone.”

“Mourn?” Peter asked, bewildered. Remus shrugged.

“The look in her eyes… It’s a look of emptiness. A look that proves she’s loved and lost far too much for far too little…”

Nobody asked how he knew that, for they already had an idea.

Remus was a werewolf. He was accustomed to suffering. He’d seen it first-hand, experienced it.

They were all quiet.

Then Peter spoke up.

“Things are going to be different now, aren’t they?” He asked.

James’ head jerked upwards. But they realised that he was right.

They didn’t know how, or why, but they knew that something was changing. It was subtle, but the arrival of the girl with the bushy hazelnut-coloured hair, and the dead eyes seemed to disrupt their normal sequence.

There was no reasonable explanation for the closeness they felt to Hermione Granger.

It was like they knew her, but that was impossible.

Right?

Looking down at her sleeping face as she nuzzled further into him, Remus found that he wasn’t sure what breached the boundaries of possibility any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think?:)
> 
> Please leave a review! It would really mean a lot!


	4. Chapter 4- The Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you in advance for reading this!  
> It really means a lot!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes here... I wrote half of this when I was tired and supposed to be sleeping, and I know I shouldn't but I couldn't stop!  
> I hope this is okay! It's over 3000 words (yay!) for once!  
> Please review afterwards, telling me what you think! They are the highlight of my week, no joke!

Chapter Four- The Reason

 

Remus woke to a pounding headache.

His right arm was numb, his lips were cracked and dry and he was pretty sure that the slightest noise would cause his ears to bleed. The sombrero was no longer on his head, and some of the events of last night were hazy at best. He couldn’t really remember whether he had left the hat in the Hospital Wing, or if it had fallen off at some point, without his knowledge.

Gingerly, Remus sat up, and shrugged (with much difficulty, mind you, he did have a body sleeping on him) his left arm out of the Hawaiian shirt. Manoeuvring to a better position so he didn’t wake Hermione, he shifted his other arm out as well, until the shirt was crumpled behind him.

Then, he laid back again, closing his eyes and sighing.

Hermione let out a breathless moan of agony.

Remus started.

He stared at the girl, monitoring her face for any more signs of life. She delivered; writhing and whimpering, her face contorting as though she were having a nightmare.

“Harry…” she whispered, and her voice was broken. “Harry, please- Ron… No, no, take me. Don’t hurt them, take me, take me please, please.”

“Hermione,” Remus said, quiet enough to not wake the others, but loud enough for her to hear. “Hermione, wake up. You’re safe here.”

His words seemed to have the opposite effect; she started thrashing, wriggling and kicking her legs out. Her words came out as desperate pleas, over and over again: “Take me, not them. Not them, please.”

“Hermione.”

Even Remus was surprised at how forceful he sounded, but it worked. She jumped abruptly, leaping away from him, although their limbs were still tangled and he blushed at their close and rather intimate proximity.

Hermione was confused. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes stung; she must have been crying. She remembered why, of course. Remembered what had triggered such a reaction out of her.

The events of Malfoy Manor came crashing back and she closed her eyes, feeling the faint pain from that day. Harry and Ron's screams echoed distantly.

Hermione started crying again, and Remus was quick to wrap his arms around her. She snuggled into his chest, seeking the warmth and comfort he was willing to give. His long fingers weaved themselves into her hair and, like what he'd done to Sirius many times before to calm the other boy down, he began running his fingers through her curls. She sighed.

"They're gone..." Hermione whimpered. And she hated how weak she sounded.

Remus didn't comment on the tone of her voice. He didn't ask who 'they' were, although he had a vague idea. He simply rested his chin on the top of her head, fingers still locked in her hair. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're here with me. You're safe now. You're safe."

He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the other three's sleeping figures, Remus assumed that it was extremely early in the morning, too early even for him.

He was about to close his eyes and try and get back to sleep, when Hermione spoke.

"Thank you, Moony."

Remus stiffened. But she didn't seem to notice his discomfort, as she was already out like a light.

He couldn't remember whether or not his friends had referred to him as that nickname in her presence, with them all being as drunk as they were. It wouldn't really matter; they did it all the time, and no one had cottoned on as of yet.

What threw Remus off was the familiarity and love with which she said it. And when he finally drifted off, his mind was plagued with a werewolf, a full moon and a lonely girl with brown hair.

oOoOo

"Oi."

Hermione stirred.

"Hey."

She grumbled something and nuzzled her head deeper into the warm pillow she was leaning against.

"How come Moony gets to sleep in and we don't?" She heard Sirius' grumpy voice ask.

"Because Moony has a girl sleeping on him, and deserves the extra few minutes seeing as Moony's supposed friends got him ashamedly drunk last night," Remus replied, his voice sounding as though the Gryffindor prefect was half-asleep still. His chest rumbled, and his voice was a loud but soothing noise in her ear.

"Well that hardly seems fair. We were drunk too!" James said.

"Yes," Remus agreed. "But that was of your own accord."

"Reemmuuss," Sirius whined, poking his friend in the side.

"Be quiet Sirius, you sound like a spoilt puppy," Hermione mumbled, and they all looked at her in surprise. James and Remus took one glance at Sirius' mortified face and began laughing uncontrollably.

Hermione grumbled something and sat up, knowing that her pillow wouldn't stop moving until his amusement had subsided, which didn't seem likely anytime soon.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the room. She frowned at first, wondering where on earth she could be, and then she remembered.

It all came hurtling back like a bad dream; the battle, Draco, Sirius, James, Peter, Remus. Ron. Harry.

Hermione choked back tears, then chastised herself furiously. You are stuck here whether you like it or not. Woman up, Hermione. You've fought in a bloody war, for crying out loud.

With this resolution set strong and firm in her mind, she took in the scene before her.

James and Remus were still laughing loudly, and Sirius was still looking sour. The fire was crackling in the hearth, and she spotted a motionless body in the far armchair, signalling that Peter was the only one fast-asleep.

Hermione knew that she was going to have to get up now. She stretched her legs, yawning, and looked at the boys in front of her.

"What time is it?" She asked curiously.

Sirius cast a look at James and Remus, who were only now sobering up, before he grabbed James' wrist and looked at the time on his watch. Although in his haste, (and his frustration at the other two most likely contributed also) he yanked his friend by the arm too vigorously, resulting in James teetering and waving said arm wildly in an attempt to break free.

Hermione snorted at the scene. They really were a bunch of idiots.

"It's..." Sirius said slowly, squinting at the glass face. "Merlin's Beard, James. Stop moving! It's 1:00."

Her eyes bugged out of their sockets.

As strange as it sounded, she'd never really had the chance to sleep in to any time past 9 o'clock. There were always lessons to get to, homework to do, horcruxes to hunt.  
Hermione realised that maybe life in the past wouldn't have to be all that awful... Maybe she could finally have the childhood she deserved.

But as she raised her head and caught sight of the three boys before her, she knew that wasn't possible. With an aching chest, she knew that she couldn't just sit there and let Lily and James die again, watch Peter get coerced by the promise of power and greatness, let Sirius get convicted for murdering his two best friends, watch Remus have to face Moony by himself.

Dumbledore's words echoed in her head, bouncing off every cavern of her mind:

"Bad things happen to those who meddle with time."

Considering this, Hermione felt torn. She bit her lip hard.

For as long as she'd known, she'd been the one who played by the rules; the one who always did what was right, not what was easy.

But would it be easy? She'd be changing the entire future. If that wasn't a monumental task, then Hermione didn't know what was.

Maybe it was time for her to do something out of the ordinary. She'd broken the law before, countless times. She'd faced Voldemort behind Harry. She was the brains.

So why wasn't her brain working?

Would it be worth it to mess with the intricate balance of time? To cut a few strings and forge a few paths here and there?

Surely, doing it for The Greater Good was a good enough reason? Surely saving two lives, and as a consequence, so many others, was better than just sitting back and letting the carpet roll out as planned?

But could she find it in herself to walk down that carpet if she did?

"Hermione?" Harr- no, James' concerned face loomed into her vision. She smiled, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely, looking at each of them, not only referring to the time. Then she averted her eyes to the floor. "I'm glad that I fell on you," she added, half-jokingly.

Sirius grinned. And there was quiet for a few minutes.

Remus stood up beside her and stretched out his long limbs. He moved across the small area to where their fourth friend was sprawled across the armchair, and stared at him for a while. Then, the werewolf kicked the bottom of the recliner, and the chair went flying forwards, jolting the sleeping boy with it.

Peter’s eyes shot open, squealing, and James and Sirius began guffawing again. Remus simply raised an eyebrow, although Hermione noticed the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

She rolled her eyes, muttering “Boys,” under her breath and walked over to the nearest book-covered wall. She ran her finger along the spines, sighing blissfully. There were so many books! This truly was her idea of heaven.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her white oxford that Dumbledore had transfigured just yesterday and began reading the titles, scanning them for something that looked interesting. She didn’t particularly care what, she just needed to read something.

Something to take her mind off of reality.

She was so lost in her search, that she didn’t notice the figure leaning against the bookcase in front of her until she walked into him. Startled at the sudden body in her way, Hermione stumbled back.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Remus didn’t even seem to be affected by her barrelling into him. He smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. You like books?” He asked, nodding towards the walls encompassing the room. Then he blushed at the stupid question.

Hermione laughed slightly. “Yes. They’re somehow able to completely take me away from all the unwanted hostility. Harry and Ron could never understand that. They had each other, but, being the only girl, I needed some… sort of respite. Quidditch talk just didn’t seem to appeal to me, I have to admit!”

Remus chuckled, glancing over at his friends, who had found a purple splodge of colour on the back of Peter’s neck, and were busy trying to remove it, but only ended up turning other parts of his body various colours. Somehow Hermione had a feeling that this wasn’t by mistake. She’d known Sirius in the future and, despite what she initially thought, he was an accomplished and intelligent wizard.

“I know what you mean,” Remus replied quietly, and she looked at him. “I mean, they’re my best friends and I would never want that any other way, but a little time away from… everything else is nice. It’s welcome.”

Hermione knew exactly what that ‘everything else’ entailed, although she didn’t comment, just smiled again softly.

Her eyes returned to the library, perusing for any title that looked interesting when she found it, her favourite, and she was drawn to it with just as much fervour as when she was eleven years old; Hogwarts: A History.

Hermione reached up, having to stand on her tip-toes to reach it properly, and her sleeve fell even further down her arm.

That’s when she realised.

That’s also when Remus saw it.

His mouth dropped to form an ‘O’ shape. His skin went pale. His eyes were glued to the ‘Mudblood’ scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her flesh.

She only noticed that he’d seen it by the harsh intake of breath, and Hermione quickly retracted her arm to pull her sleeve down, but it was futile.

“Hermione,” Remus said faintly. “What was that?”

She cleared her throat, eyebrows furrowing, but the act was shifty; her nervous disposition obvious to anyone who looked. “What are you talking about?”

“I-” he broke off, swallowing and running a hand through his hair. In a split second decision, where his eyes flicked to her blasted forearm, his hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist. Gently. Not hard, at all. He brought it, struggling and twisting, closer to him so he could look again. Hermione closed her eyes and stood limp. She knew there was no point. Remus had seen it, and he was bound to be curious.

With his eyes on her arm, greedily but hesitantly taking in every inch of bare skin, he rolled the sleeve further up. And let out a small noise.

“What-” Remus looked up at her raggedly. “What happened, Hermione? How-”

The other three boys seemed to feel the sudden change of mood in the air, and looked over. Sirius frowned, taking in his friend’s sickly pallor.

“Remus, are you okay?”

“I-”

“Remus, what on earth are you doin-?”

James stopped short, both in speaking and walking. “Fucking hell…”

“What?” Peter asked. “What’s going on?”

“Hermione…” James said, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Then he winced. “Fucking bloody bumbling hell…”

Hermione tried to drag her arm away, biting her lip when Remus wouldn’t let go. She would try snaking it out of his grasp, but she knew that would be a lost cause; he was a werewolf, and although he didn’t look it, he was remarkably strong.

“It’s nothing,” she said shakily, attempting to switch everyone’s attention.

Sirius began striding towards the others now, fed up of being left out of whatever was going on.

“What is all the fuss about-” If Hermione had not known him, she would have been scared of him. In that moment, she recognised immediately the look of anger in his dark eyes.

The intensity that sparked in them made her heart jump to her throat. He prowled forward slowly, stretching his fingers out to trace the lines on her skin.

“Hermione. What happened to you?” He asked in a low voice, and when he met her gaze, she felt breathless.

Of course it was different for her. Hermione had known him in the future, had held respectable and intelligent conversations with him, had argued over his Godson’s welfare, for Christ’s sake. But for Sirius, he had only known her for a day. Not even that. And yet this emotion in his eyes, this deep burning rage at the scar inflicted by his own cousin was real.

“I-” Hermione was, for once, at a loss for what to say. And then, she remembered her resolution earlier. If she truly was stuck in the past, and she was going to be changing the entire timeline, then the earlier she started, the better. But she didn’t feel like spilling everything now.

She needed to trust them more first.

“This might be easier if you all sat down,” Hermione said awkwardly, folding her arms across her chest. Now that she was definitely going to talk, it seemed Remus was willing to let her go.

They followed her over to the sofas, Sirius and Remus sitting next to her, whilst James and Peter took seats on the floor. Remus was still pale. Peter looked like he was going to be sick.

“I-I really don’t know where to begin,” Hermione started. Then she laughed weakly, although the sound was devoid of any real emotion. It just acted as an effect to fill the silence, with no real effect at all. “Before I came to be here… I was fighting… in a war.”

She cringed, hating how dramatic it all sounded. She supposed it was, judging by their horrified expressions. But for Hermione, she’d grown up knowing that a war was slowly brewing, that she would inevitably have to fight in one. She was accustomed to war.

“That’s why I looked like I did. Why I was cut and bleeding and dirty. I don’t remember all of it. Honestly, I can only remember red and green, pain and death. I can remember people screaming and people dying and I remember the fear of having someone you loved next to you one minute, and have them dead the next..."

The boys hung onto her every word, enraptured.

"The- the scar on my arm, I got from a nasty woman. She was insane. Always laughing and mocking and always looking for someone t-to t-torture. She had me and my friends captured at Mal- a Manor." Hermione forgot about where she was, only remembering where she had been. She stared into the fire, the events of that day playing out as though she were reliving it over again. "She thought that we'd stolen something from her, but we hadn't. She screamed at us, tortured us under the Crutiatus Curse. Nothing. So she realised she would have to resort to more... Personal methods... That's how she carved that word into my arm. She was a Pureblood, one of those that believe they rule the world," Hermione said bitterly, her finger running over the scars. Her eyes cleared abruptly and she stared at Sirius. "I still remember Harry and Ron's screams. I can see the life fading from their eyes and I've forgotten whether that's real or my imagination and I feel so guilty. I can still hear them when a room goes very quiet, like...like my past is haunting me. And I-I am scared. And I'm not sure what sort of Gryffindor that makes me, but I am scared."

Tears leaked out of Hermione's eyes. No one said anything for a while but Hermione was glad for the momentary solace. She felt a huge relief. Like a heavy weight had been partially lifted off of her shoulders, for the time being.

"The past can hurt. Trust me, I fucking know," Sirius said quietly and Hermione's heart hurt at how sad he sounded. "But the way I look at it is you can either run from it, and live in fear your whole life... Or you can learn from it, and do something better."

His hand found hers and he squeezed her fingers tightly.

Hermione knew straight away what he was talking about; his family. The same family that her torturer in the future would come from...

It amazed her how two people could come from the same background and grow up so differently. How one could become a saviour, and the other; a monster.

"And if it ever catches up to you, we're here," James added, smiling lopsidedly.

"Yeah," Peter agreed, nodding. "We might not know you that well, but we know you enough. You're a good person, Hermione. It wasn't your fault."

And then, Remus said something that Hermione swore she would never forget:

"Everything happens for a reason. It's just some things require a search, and some require a brain. But all require a heart.

"Don't feel bad, Hermione, just because you haven't yet found that reason."


	5. Chapter 5- The Nickname

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FIVE!  
> FINAALLYYYYY!
> 
> I'm really sorry this took so long, but I just had no inspiration and I'm busy with another story that I'm writing (not a fanfic, an original;))  
> So, *HOPEFULLY* (she says, because I might not do it) next chapter will include a prank! If you've got any ideas or anything you'd like to see in the next chapter, just leave a little note and I'll be sure to add it somehow!
> 
> Again, thank you very much for your support- it means the world! Every time I get a little notification in my email, I literally get soooo excited!!!! :)
> 
> I hope this is okay....
> 
> Everliah

Chapter Five- The Nickname

 

Hermione had gone quiet and had reserved to sitting in front of the fire, entranced by the orange flames. She was on the floor, cross-legged, a small blanket thrown around her shoulders.

The Marauders were a good distance away, discussing what they had just heard.

“I’ve been thinking,” began Sirius, who was casually leaned up against the bookcase wall.

“Well, that’s never good,” Remus mumbled and the other boy shot him a mocking glare. “Do try not to over-exert yourself.”

“Oh shush Moony. Anyway, I’ve come to conclusion that we should adopt her!”

He looked at his friends, a triumphant and smug smile on his face, as though he’d just come up with the best plan in the world. Peter looked amused and asked with raised eyebrows, “Are you still drunk?”

James rolled his eyes.

“And by that, you mean…?” Remus pressed, a sarcastic twinge to his voice. Sirius sighed.

“The only thing that made me feel better when I ran away from home, was knowing that I had three people who cared about me. So, we let her know that we care about her,” he explained softly. “We look after her and help her adjust. We make her feel loved here, to rival the love she felt back home. We make her feel like she belongs.”

There was quiet.

“You know, Padfoot,” James said, shaking his head in awe. “Even though the majority, about 98.74%, of what comes out of your mouth is shit, every now and then, you say the smartest things.”

Sirius squinted, trying to figure out whether he should be flattered or offended. In the end, he settled on being both.

Peter nodded his assent. “Good idea, Pad.”

Sirius clapped the shorter boy on the back and grinned, “Thanks Pete.”

They slowly, hesitantly, walked over to the girl huddled on the floor. Remus knelt beside her.

“Hermione?” He said gently.

She turned to look at him and he could see the fire reflected in her brown eyes. “Yes?”

“We were just talking, and since you’re here, we’d like to look after you,” Remus closed his eyes, wincing a little. “I mean, of course, you don’t need looking after, you are a fully grown woman, after all, but if you-if you, erm-”

Hermione’s lips quirked at his stuttering.

“What our dear friend is trying to say, is that we want to adopt you!” Sirius announced happily. Hermione paused. James slapped his forehead.

“That is most certainly not what I was trying to say. At all,” Remus interjected.

“Basically, Hermione, what we are failing to get across here is that… if you want us here, we’ll be here,” Peter said, grinning lopsidedly.

She honestly felt her heart melt at the four earnest looks on each of their faces. She nodded and offered them a small smile. “I’m ready,” she said, looking at Remus.

He frowned, confused for a moment, until he remembered their conversation last night. “Okay.” He checked his watch. “Well, it’s almost tea time. We could go down to the Great Hall, if you want? It’s where we eat,” Remus added, as if she didn’t know. Hermione was about to open her mouth and say, “I know,” but she bit her lip. She’d have to play ignorant from now on.

Instead, she nodded.

Remus got to his feet, helping her up with him. Sirius swooped in straight away, offering his arm. He smiled at her impishly.

They walked in relative silence. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Rather, a silence where each was immersed in one’s own thoughts. Every now and then, one of them spoke up, informing her of the history of Hogwarts, but mainly pointing out the locations of their many pranks.

“And this here, this exact spot, is where we charmed the walls to turn anyone who touched them pink and fluffy. It was rather amusing to see Lucius Malfoy’s blonde hair deformed beyond recognition-”

“Personally, I think the bloke suited it,” James said, shrugging. “I don’t know why he didn’t appreciate it! The fluff and feathers really brought out his feminine side.”

Hermione had stiffened at the mention of the elder Malfoy, but allowed a small laugh to leave her lips from the image of him spluttering pink feathers.

They reached the Great Hall and she hesitated, digging her heels into the floor. Her breathing accelerated. Suddenly, the rush of events from that night came flooding back, assaulting her, invading her mind and vision. She could see Fred Weasley falling, see Lavender Brown being mauled by Greyback, see those people whose deaths she hadn’t witnessed, but she could imagine anyway and there were so many; Snape, Fred, Colin Creevey, Lavender, Tonks, Remus. There were so many more, but she felt sick just thinking of those few.

Hermione gripped Sirius’ arm tightly and he moved in front of her, holding her elbows. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”

And for some strange reason, Hermione believed him.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, relishing in the feel of someone there next to her, reading to catch her if she fell to pieces. Then, she nodded and the boys opened the doors to the Great Hall.

It was just as she remembered it.

Four long wooden tables stood in line before her, each filled with various plates and platters of food until no inch of wood was visible. Students, dressed in muggle clothing, sat on the benches, adding colour to the old castle. There was laughter and a buzz of conversation, and Hermione felt her entire being ache. She clenched her jaw.

oOoOo

The familiar buzz of student’s voices greeted the Golden Trio as they walked through the oak doors. The clattering of utensils and the screech of owls enveloped them as they sat in their usual places at the Gryffindor table. Hermione immediately retrieved a book out of her bag and commenced to read, whilst the boys rolled their eyes in turn at their friend’s predictable behaviour. Ron reached out and grabbed something from every single plate in his grasp, before stuffing it into his mouth. Harry did the same.

“No potions for a week!” Ron exclaimed, mouth full. Both Harry and Hermione wrinkled their noses in disgust as food went flying everywhere. The week he was referring to was the week that Seamus Finnegan had blown up the entire dungeon. Luckily, it wasn’t anything too serious, but it was bad enough to have to cancel most of the classes located down there.

“I know!” Hermione complained, finally closing her book and gently pushing it to the side. “I mean, obviously I’m still going to read about it but it’s not the same thing!”

The boys, for the second time that morning, rolled their eyes and tried to hide their exasperation.

Hermione glared at them. “Just because I actually enjoy and care about my grades and studies doesn’t mean you two can act like nattering Neanderthals and laugh at me! Maybe you should actually attempt homework or, better yet, read to get good marks!” She huffed, standing up and throwing her bag over one shoulder, and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry groaned and made a move to follow her but was pulled back onto the bench by his red-haired friend.

“Don’t worry mate, she’ll be back.” Harry looked doubtful. “She forgot her book!” Ron explained, winking and pointing at the heavy leather book still on the table. Both could hardly stop the huge grins spreading across their faces...

oOoOo

Hermione straightened her shoulders and stood tall. She detangled her arm from Sirius’ and strode confidently up through the middle of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. At some point, the din grew quiet and she could feel every set of eyes on her. They followed her movement with confusion.

She only stopped when she stood in front of Dumbledore, who was ignorantly cutting up some chicken. Hermione cleared her throat, and his twinkling eyes looked at her, brows raised as though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

“Miss Granger, how are you?” Dumbledore asked humbly, smiling.

She raised her chin, flashing him a smile of her own. “I’m well, Professor. And yourself?”

“Good, good.” Hermione could see the other teachers staring at her in befuddlement. “And what can I do for you, my dear?”

She bit her lip, breathing, convincing herself to go through with this, before she said, “I’d like to take you up on your offer, Professor. If it still stands.”

He clapped his hands happily. “Why, of course! Of course. I’ll arrange for someone to collect your books and buy you some more personal possessions, shall we say.”

Her cheeks burned. “I- I don’t have any money, sir.”

Dumbledore waved her off. “Do not worry, child. I would be more than willing to help.”

And despite the animosity she felt towards him, Hermione still felt touched. “Thank you.”

He smiled warmly at her, “Do not mention it, Miss Granger. Now, I do believe you have attained quite the audience, and Mr Black looks positively impatient.” She turned her head around and blushed deeply at the fact that the entire hall was indeed watching her. Smiling at Dumbledore, Hermione spun on her heel and walked back to the Marauders.  
James glared at anyone who stared at her for too long.

“What was that about?” Sirius asked when she got close enough.

“I was just letting Professor Dumbledore know that I was staying here,” she replied, laughing at the way his eyes lit up.

“Great!” Peter spoke up, glancing between them all. “Now can we sit down and eat? I’m starving!”

They all moved over to the Gryffindor Table. People were still staring and Hermione began to feel uncomfortable, but they quickly averted their eyes and attention when she or one of the boys met their gaze. Shifting in her seat, she surveyed the food in front of her, but the thought and sight of food made her feel sick. In the end, she settled for an apple, biting into it tentatively and slowly.

Peter and James devoured the food as if they hadn’t eaten in days; the former feeling it was his place to inform Hermione of all the exceptional meals on offer, with a full mouth and grin. Remus was a bit more civilised, but only marginally, and seemed to eat more chocolate than anything else, heading straight for the deserts. Sirius was just picking at bits of everything, plucking things off of James’ plate as soon as he put them down. Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“Aren’t you hungry, Kitten?” Sirius asked, tilting his head down to look at her face. She shrugged a shoulder, then frowned.

“Kitten?” She questioned dubiously, testing it out on her lips before shaking her head. “No.”

“What?” He said.

“You are not calling me Kitten.”

“Why?” Sirius moaned, pouting and flopping his head onto her shoulder. Hermione jumped as he nuzzled into her hair, but relaxed slightly as she realised this was Sirius. Even in her time, he always seemed to like the company of people, and had no definition of personal space in his vocabulary. She had guessed it was just because he was starved for real human touch after twelve years of isolation, but now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he was always like that. Maybe he was just trying to make up for the lost love he never got back at home. His arm crept around her back, but didn’t actually touch her properly. His hand rested on the bench on her other side, but his arm brushed against her back every few seconds. She knew Sirius probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Because it’s degrading and stupid,” Hermione replied eventually, grabbing the sides of his head and pushing it back. He pouted, leaning into her touch, but then his lips stretched into a smile, and she found herself smiling too at his playfulness. She’d noticed it before, but now it was glaringly obvious; Sirius was truly like a little puppy.

“Well, what would you have me call you?” He asked, eyebrows raised, his face still encased in her hands.

“Hm,” Hermione pretended to think, then raised an eyebrow. “How about my name?”

“Hm,” Sirius mocked her. “How about Catulus?”

She scowled at him, “That just means Kitten in Latin!”

He pretended to be surprised, “Really? What a coincidence!”

Hermione glared, “Sirius.”

“Kitten.”

She sighed deeply but before she could reply, James cut her off. “As… touching as this is, I think I’m going to be sick.”

She blushed, sticking her tongue out at him and Sirius grinned, even as she let go of his face. She looked pointedly away then, still aware of the arm around her.

It sounded strange, but she almost forgot about everything going on. In fact, she did forget. With the Marauders as a distraction, maybe Hermione could use this solace. After all,  
it wouldn’t last forever, and she craved the normalcy.

“Potter.”

A feminine voice broke the awkward silence and Hermione jumped, looking up suddenly. Her mouth dropped open when she spotted the redhead coming towards them. Her emerald eyes were shining with anger, her skin was pale and freckled; Lily Evans stopped behind Peter.

Her eyes were fixed on James, who had turned a rather ugly shade of red and had straightened his glasses. “Yes, Lily flower?”

Narrowed eyes narrowed even more, until they were merely slits of green. Even Hermione winced for him. “Don’t call me that, Potter.”

Beside her, Sirius nudged her side and whispered, “Hey, it’s like looking into a mirror, Kitten.”

“Don’t call me that, Black,” Hermione repeated, although the corner of her lips gave away her smile.

He chuckled.

“Hello Lily,” Remus greeted politely. Lily diverted her gaze and smiled brightly at him. It lit up her whole face and even though he looked so much like his father, Hermione recognised the smile immediately.

The redhead casually glanced around the rest of the group, then backtracked and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. “Oh! I didn’t realise there was a new student…” Lily shot James a frown, and he sunk further down in his seat. “I’m Lily Evans, Head Girl.” She offered her hand.

Hermione shook it and said, “Hermione Granger.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you!” Lily said, with another smile and Hermione knew immediately that she and Harry’s mother were going to get along. At that thought, she swallowed deeply, hating the fact that it was her who got to spend time with all of them, and not Harry.

“You too,” she managed to say.

Lily smiled once more, before her face dropped as she looked at James again.

“You didn’t turn up to the Head’s Meeting, Potter. It was this morning, after breakfast, but no, you were too busy recovering from your hangover to care! I searched the entire castle for you, but you weren’t there and nobody had seen you! You were drunk and unstable and God knows what else! Where in Merlin’s name were you?” Lily cried at last, hands on her hips.

Hermione almost raised her eyebrows in surprise. Weren’t Harry’s parents supposed to be helplessly in love?

“You know, Evans, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about dear Prongs, here,” Sirius drawled.

Lily blushed a bright red and started spluttering indignantly, “I- well, it’s a good thing you don’t know any better otherwise, I’m afraid to say, you’d be sadly mistaken!”

But Sirius had obviously seen enough as he merely smirked, and said, “Whatever you say, Evans.”

Lily’s eyes widened a fraction and her mouth opened and closed twice before she settled on sending him a glare and saying to James (without looking at him directly), “There’s a Heads Meeting tonight, Potter. Don’t forget it.”

And she walked away.

James was still staring wistfully at her retreating figure and only turned back once the last of her red hair had disappeared. Remus shot him a sympathetic glance.

“I wonder how she’s so perky,” he commented. “Wasn’t she playing a drinking game with Marlene?”

Nobody answered.

“Now, c’mon Prongs. Cheer up!” Sirius said cheerfully, a huge grin present on his face. “We’ve still got a prank to plan…”

This perked him up and James shot up in his seat, until he was sat normally again. All four of the boys leaned in, until their heads were close together. They paused then, and looked at her. Sirius motioned towards the head-sized slot they had left empty in their circle.

Hermione regarded them cautiously.

But as Sirius’ arm grazed her back and excitement shone in James’ eyes, she reconsidered.

Would it really be so bad to just let go a little? As she leaned forward, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hermione felt free.


	6. Chapter 6- The Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii guys! I swear I'm alive, I just had absolutely no idea what to write for this chapter!  
> I know I hinted at a prank, but that will have to be next chapter! Sorryyyy!  
> Anyways, I recently read through it all from the beginning and I modified some parts that desperately needed changing, like Lily's character (I had no idea what made me write her as a stuck-up perfect Head Girl, so I tried to add more 'Lily' to her! I imagine her to care about her role, but also live a little, hence the drinking game with Marlene!)  
> Thank you so so so so so much for sticking with this. I am definitely going to try and finish the fanfiction even if it kills me (which hopefully, it won't).  
> Again, please leave a review as they genuinely make my week! And tell me anything you want me to include or any ideas you have for pranks, relationships, quotes, scenarios, plot-twists etc. I'm very open to hearing your thoughts and giving you what you desire ;)  
> Enjoy this chapter!!

Chapter 6- The Sleep

 

The plan was brilliant. Flawless. Whilst she had known that Remus was smart (he had been a Professor, for Christ’s sake!), Hermione hadn’t fully stopped and thought about how intelligent the Marauders must be; they did create a map that could track people’s movements around one of the most protected magical buildings in the world, regardless of any deception used. But now, seeing it in action, she was rendered speechless. 

After they had run through the basics of their prank, the five of them moved outside to avoid perked ears and were now sat on the banks of the lake. Sirius and Peter were skimming rocks across the surface of the water, laughing as they tried to get farther than the other. James had made a bypass to the Quidditch Shed and had, with a crooked smile and wink at Hermione, retrieved a snitch to play with. He was currently leaning against a tree, watching the golden ball with lazy eyes. 

Remus was lying next to her, arms folded underneath his head, eyes closed. Hermione watched him, tracing the faint lines of his face. From a distance, his pale skin appeared untarnished, but she knew better. White, almost invisible scars marred his complexion. She couldn’t help but compare this Remus to the one she knew; he was so much happier in this era. 

“You’re staring at me.”

Hermione jumped and refocused her gaze on him. An eye cracked open and his lips quirked upwards. She blushed, stuttering.

“I don’t mind,” Remus added and in a dry tone said, “I have been told I am a wonder to look upon.”

She snorted and he only looked mildly offended before his face split into a grin. Hermione sobered up and just smiled at him. 

“So why were you staring?” Remus asked quietly. His gaze was so intense.

Shrugging, she didn’t reply. He raised an eyebrow, obviously finding her silence interesting and she sighed. “You have scars on your face,” Hermione replied in a small whisper.

His face drained of emotion. 

“I’m aware.”

Hermione just stared at him. 

James, who had previously been amusing himself, shot up, eyes wide. His eyes flicked to Remus once, before he burst out laughing, mirth spilling from his grinning lips. Hermione watched him with caution, confused at his sudden eruption. He leaned forward, slapping his knee as silent laughter bubbled out of his mouth. 

She frowned at Remus, wondering if he knew what was going on, but the other boy merely looked resigned as he watched his friend. A slight smile tugged at his face, though he didn’t show it. 

Just then, Sirius called over excitedly, “Hey James! Watch this!”

Scrunching his face up in concentration, he turned to the side, bending over at the waist so his behind was sticking back, and, with a long sweeping swing of his arm, flicked the rock out across the surface of the lake. It bounced once, twice, then plopped underneath the water. 

His face shot to James, evidently proud. James, on the other hand, looked flabbergasted for a second before he asked indignantly, “You’re proud of that? Padfoot, mate, that was bloody shite! It only bounced twice before it sunk!”

Sirius rolled his eyes and retorted, his voice scathing, “You’re just jealous.”

Peter scoffed from his place next to him. Then, his face lit up and he said slyly, “Bet I can make it ten.”

“What? You fucking wish, Wormtail.”

The smaller boy raised an eyebrow, before, practising the action a few times, he flicked his wrist forwards. The stone went zooming across the water, causing ripples to billow out each time it struck the velvety, dark surface.

One.

Two.

Three.

Sirius’ face dropped.

Four.

He glanced at Peter cautiously.

Five.

Six.

Disbelief morphed his lovely features.

Seven.

“No way.”

Eight.

“I refuse to let this happen. I refuse to let Peter beat me.”

Nine.

He winced, squinting his eyes, hardly daring to watch.

Ten.

Peter turned to his best friend, scrawny face pulled into a pleasant yet obviously smug smile. “Sorry, Padfoot. What was that? ‘Oh, Peter, you’re so talented and exceptional at throwing stones. I’m sorry I ever doubted you!’?”

Remus added, “Because throwing stones really wins you the ladies, Peter. You should show your impressive skills off to Mary someday.”

“You mean, when he finally manages to speak to her,” James said, raising an eyebrow. Peter blushed. 

Sirius had used this time to pull himself together and a mischievous gleam caught in his eye. Both he and Pete had rolled their trousers up to their knees and had ventured into the shallow depths of the Black Lake to skim the stones. Now, he crept slowly closer to his friend, who was still distracted, and leapt. He pounced on Peter, arms wrapping around the shorter boy’s neck, knees knocking him off his feet. They both landed, with an almighty splash, in the water. 

Hermione couldn’t contain her laughter. The sound escaped her mouth quickly and freely before she had the chance to stop it. James shot her a surprised look. 

Sirius emerged, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead. A hand shot up to touch it and he pulled a face that hinted to an impending emotional breakdown. He flung himself out of the water and down near Remus and Hermione and cried, “My hair! My beautiful hair! My one weakness! Oh dear, however will I cope without my volume! I most surely will not!”

Remus rolled his eyes, kicking out his feet to boot the wailing boy in the ribs. “For the last time, you’re not Samson, Sirius.”

Sirius stopped his antics, looking at him in exasperation. “For the last time, I don’t know who Samson is. He better have nice hair, though.”

“Oh the loveliest,” Hermione added. 

His gaze shot to her. “But not as lovely as mine, right Kitten?”

“Well actually, Samson’s hair was powerful.” He pouted at her, and she added resignedly, “Of course it’s not as lovely as yours, Sirius.”

This seemed to cheer him up and he crawled closer to her, grinning from ear to ear. When he was as close as he could possibly be, Sirius made a move to flop across her lap, but froze. His eyes met hers. Hermione could read him easily; he was scared of breaching her boundaries, of making her uncomfortable. She sighed and reached up for his shoulder to pull him down anyway. Sirius, whilst all the while staring at her to monitor her face for any change of decision, slowly laid back across her lap. Hermione closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the tree. He seemed so warm and she let her fingers thread through his lovely, yet damp hair. A strange, rhythmic sound escaped his lips. 

Her eyes opened suddenly. She looked down and noticed that Sirius too had closed his eyes and seemed to be enjoying her ministrations. Remus exchanged a glance with Peter, and James spluttered, “Did he just purr?!”

Hermione bit her lip to stop laughing, but that didn’t stop the other boys, who roared with mirth. Sirius grumbled something, turning his head into her legs and shuffled closer. 

She continued to stroke his hair as the evening fell and the sky turned dark. He didn’t purr again.

oOoOo

Hermione didn’t know what time she fell asleep. 

She was awoken however by voices nearby, but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, which still seemed too heavy from tiredness. 

“-fell from the ceiling? I mean, if she was fighting in a war… How did she manage to fall from the Gryffindor Common Room ceiling?” James’ voice was hushed.

“She couldn’t have apparated,” Peter said. 

“Pete’s right. Apparition is impossible inside Hogwarts Grounds… In fact, with that logic, it should be impossible to even get inside Hogwarts, at all,” Remus frowned. “Without someone’s permission, that is.”

“What if she was invited?” Peter suggested.

“Who would invite her?”

James shrugged, glancing at the girl in question. “She knew Dumbledore. Well, if her reaction was anything to go by…”

“Yes, but if that’s the case, she would have arrived at the gate or something.”

“Remus, this girl was fighting in a bloody war,” James said in exasperation, trying to keep his voice down. “I hardly doubt she thought, ‘Oh my, better watch my manners and knock on the front fucking door!’ She was probably being shot at from every direction with-” he glimpsed at her once more, before lowering his voice, “Unforgivables!”

The three boys were quiet for a second and Hermione held her breath. 

“She could have died,” Peter spoke suddenly and quietly. 

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“Does it worry you how we all seem to care about that?”

James looked at him sharply and Peter continued, “We’ve only just met her, barely twenty-four hours and yet-”

“It feels like we’ve known her an eternity,” Remus finished for him, eyes intense and heavy. They stared at each other, neither one knowing how to reply. It was true. They all felt it; the inexplicable closeness to the girl from the ceiling. Maybe it was because they had both experienced and witnessed the hardship they knew she was accustomed to. Maybe it was because they could see that she had been through hell, was still there even, and knew that no matter what, she had to keep going.

A tear fell from her eye and Hermione couldn’t stop her face from crumpling with emotion. Quickly, she reached up to her face and wiped it away, pretending to yawn in the process. Three pairs of wide awake eyes shot to her in the darkness. 

“You’re awake,” Remus commented lightly, although she sensed the underlying question. 

“Yes,” Hermione mumbled, smiling. She asked innocently, “Have you guys been awake all this time?”

Peter swallowed, visibly relieved and replied, “Yes. It’s only been an hour, maybe two.”

She yawned again, for real this time, and James laughed. “You’re still tired?”

She stuck her tongue out. “Shattered, actually.”

The evidence of her nap started in her bum, which ached terribly from her lack of movement. She shifted, trying to ease her uncomfortableness, but only succeeded in rousing the boy still lying on her. Sirius murmured something indistinguishable, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist to hold her still. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Sirius, wake up. I need to move.”

“Justoneminute,” he muttered, snuggling closer.

“No. Now! If you get up, then you can get back to sleep sooner.”

“But I’m comfy! You’re comfy,” Sirius smiled sleepily up at her, resting his chin on her thigh. Hermione felt her throat clog a little as she looked at him. Taking a deep breath, she shoved his head off of her, causing the rest of his body to roll onto the grassy bank. “Okay,” he said, clambering to his feet and rubbing his head. “Point taken. You could have been a littler gentler.”

She glared at him. 

They made their way back up to the castle, relishing in the silence of the dark, winter night. Hermione folded her arms around herself, eyes flitting into the shadows. She shifted closer to James, who was on her right, and tried not to squirm. It wasn’t that she was scared. No, she scoffed at the thought; Hermione Granger was most certainly not scared of the dark. It was what lurked in the dark that had the hairs standing up on her arms, had the goosebumps erupting, pricking her skin.

“Are you cold?” A deep voice breathed in her ear. She looked up to see James blinking down at her. 

“Oh, no, I-”

“Here.” He shrugged off his jumper and moved to stand in front of her, leaving the other three to continue walking. Sticking his tongue between his teeth, James held it over her head, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“What-?”

“Up.” Hermione lifted her arms up, and he pulled it down over her head. The jumped was huge on her, and she tugged it down further so it stopped at her mid-thigh. Her hands were concealed by the sleeves and she tucked her fingers up inside the cuff to keep them warm. Hermione couldn’t help but let her senses be overwhelmed by the scent of him.  
James smelt of spice and cold October nights. He smelt of firewood, that had slowly sacrificed itself to provide warmth for others, had been reduced to a charred, blackened crisp. 

He smelt like Harry.

“Thank you.”

He smelt like home.

James shrugged, his face soft and said, “The boys tease me. They say I’m the Mother Hen and I’m always clucking. I can’t really rest if someone I care for is… I dunno, cold or hungry or sad, you know? I get it from my mum.”

Even after he returned to her side, and they started walking again, Hermione felt warm and touched and loved. 

oOoOo

They walked through the candle-lit corridors peacefully, taking their time. All the while, Hermione fingered with the hem of James’ jumper, chewing her bottom lip compulsively. 

Could she bring herself to go back to the Gryffindor Common Room? After everything that’s happened there. Sure, the good outweighed the bad, but she wasn’t sure she could face the happy memories either.

All it would take was the sight of the fireplace, where they had lounged almost every winter, bathed in the heat, or the appearance of the table where Harry and Ron had played Wizards Chess most Saturday mornings, to set her off. Hermione didn’t know if she was ready to relive those moments, and to confront the truth that they may never happen again. 

And then suddenly, they were there. Standing in front of the Fat Lady. Even out here, she could make out the distinct rumble of life and conversation seeping through the hidden door. 

“Fortis Corde Suo,” Remus said, watching as the portrait swung backwards and the Common Room came into view. 

The four boys stepped in first and Hermione followed, already feeling her throat shake. The red and gold adornments seemed to mock her, and she whipped her head around to try and escape the hissing curtains and the laughing walls. Swallowing, she tried to breathe normally, but the oxygen wouldn’t come and she didn’t know what to do. She needed to breathe, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t breathe. Her head was indiscernible. Hermione could see people start to look at her, but it didn’t feel like her. It felt like someone else was standing where she was, using her body as a vessel and she was trapped to endure. Sirius was there in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, hands on her shoulders but she couldn’t feel his grip. She couldn’t feel anything. It was like she wasn’t there.

And then, she wasn’t there at all. 

Hermione was back in her time. She could see the floor littered with odd objects. She could see the piles of random leftovers from students over the centuries. She could see the blonde boy in front of her with the sallow face and his scared eyes and his lips mouthed the same words over and over and over again and then he was falling and all Hermione could do was cry-

When she jolted back into reality, she was crouched on the floor, hands over her ears, chanting the same words over and over again. Sirius was still in front of her, his own large palms covering hers. Over his shoulder, stood a worried looking Peter and Remus, who was biting his thumb nail.

James was on her right. 

“Hermione?” He asked carefully, reaching out to touch the small of her back.

She didn’t reply, merely removed her hands from her head and got to her feet. Her entire body was shaking. 

The entirety of Gryffindor seemed to be staring at her as though she was some kind of freak, but Hermione couldn’t blame them. They had just witnessed her having what looked like a mental breakdown. Most of them were probably wondering why she wasn’t in St. Mungos. 

“Hermione.” Even though her head still hurt and the sound around her seemed to be fuzzy and somehow unreal, Remus’ voice cut through everything. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Hermione reached out for him blindly, not knowing where he was, only that he would be there. And he was. As soon as her hands extended, Remus stepped in front of her, placing one arm around her waist. 

He led her through the Common Room and towards the dormitories, but she was barely aware of the route until the door clicked shut and the hushed whispers that had started up were reduced to a ringing silence. 

That was when Hermione realised she was in their room. “Oh,” she said. “You don’t have to-”

“Kitten, there’s no way you’re sleeping by yourself,” Sirius interjected. His voice was firm.

“Yeah,” James said. “Look at him, he’s serious. And Sirius is almost never serious!”

Peter sucked his lips in at the terrible pun, Remus slackened his jaw. Sirius, on the other hand, grinned wildly, high-fiving his best friend with a kind-of manic glee. 

“Oh dear,” Hermione commented dryly.

All four pairs of eyes darted to her, and then they started laughing. Even Remus’ body was racking with barely concealed amusement. She frowned, wondering what on earth had set them off, when she realised. Her eyes closed in exasperation. Of course, she had somehow managed to expand the pun. 

“Anyway,” James wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Remus continued to hold her (although he kept a reasonable distance away- most likely respecting her wishes, but she would prefer for him to be closer) whilst Sirius, Peter and James commenced to pulling the bedside cabinets out from in between the four four-poster beds. Hermione frowned again, before their actions became clear, as they pushed all the beds together.

She turned to Remus. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, we’ve done it before and it works rather well,” he said simply. “It’s rather comfy too.”

“And great for cuddling,” Sirius winked.

“But you do fall down the gaps,” Peter spoke up, eyeing a particularly gaping breach in the giant bed. 

“You mean, you fall down the gaps, Pete.”

The boy in question turned pink, but stuck his middle finger up at James nevertheless.

Remus left Hermione’s side to move over to the pile of clothes in one corner of the room (she rolled her eyes) and proceeded to fill the holes up with clothes, until there was  
absolutely no way one could fall through. 

“There. Magic,” he announced deprecatingly.

Sirius smiled, jumping on the bed and just lying there. “You never fail to amaze me, Remy.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but otherwise ignored him, and turned to Hermione. “Would you like some pyjamas?”

She blushed, eyes widening. “O-oh. Erm, I- you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, rooting around a second clothes pile (which, judging from the multiple woolly cardigans and odd pairs of socks, belonged to him) before holding up a worn-looking brown jumper. “Here.” Then, he paused, before sauntering over to one of the cabinets and plucking out some boxers. His neck and ears were pink as he threw them to her too. “They-erm, they’re all I have… If that’s okay…”

Trailing off awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm, yeah,” Hermione said, coughing. “Thanks.”

“Bathroom’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

As she headed towards it, the door opened up and James strolled out in a crisp pair of crimson pyjamas with golden snitches splashed in decoration. He held the door open for her, offering her a smile and a “M’lady.”

It didn’t take her long to change and by then, the boys had put their nightwear on too. Hermione shuffled over to the bed, clutching her uniform to her chest.

“Just throw it anywhere,” Sirius said. “Merlin knows Remus does.”

She did, plopping it down on the floor, before climbing onto the bed. Sirius patted the spot between him and James in the very middle and she delicately tip-toed over Remus and Sirius’ long legs to collapse. Neither boy reached out to hold her, but Hermione could feel the heat radiating off of their bodies. 

“Pete, get the light.”

Peter’s head shot up and he protested indignantly, “Why do I have to get the light?”

“Because you’re the closest.”

“Technically, you’re the closest, Sirius.”

“Yes, well I am tangled in a mess of human limbs.”

“There are literally two people next to you.”

“I respect their comfort.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

“I’m a changed man.”

“But-”

“For fucks sake, Peter, just get the goddamn light,” Remus mumbled, lifting his head from his pillow crossly. His glare silenced Pete, who with a dramatic sigh, got out of bed and turned the light off. 

The room was plunged into shadows, and Hermione immediately tensed up. James noticed, feeling her rigid body freeze. His hand slipped into hers and, slowly but surely, her muscles relaxed.

This wasn’t something new to her. She had shared a bed with Harry and Ron various times. But this felt so much more intimate. 

Just as she was drifting into Sleep’s tender clutches, something moved next to her. Hermione frowned. It did it again. The mattress dipped, the covers shifted. 

Remus groaned. “Stop moving.”

The movement ceased.

Then, the teenage boy started wriggling again, legs stretching in all directions to try and get comfy.

“Sirius,” Remus growled. “I will genuinely lie on top of you if you do not stay still.”

Sirius exhaled dramatically, flopping down on the bed. There was silence and then…

“What do you think the first ghost thought when he came back?”

A chorus of groaning erupted from the bed. Hermione snorted.

“I mean, it must’ve been pretty freaky. He probably thought he was still alive or something, right?” Sirius continued.

“But, I think you’d know if you were dead, mate,” James countered thoughtfully.

“Do not encourage him, Potter.”

“Nah, I bet he knew,” Peter said.

“But how would he know?” Hermione opted. “If he was the first ever ghost, then the concept of ghosts would be non-existent.”

“He most likely thought, ‘Man, this is a bad day.’”

“James, I highly doubt a medieval gentlemen would use the endearment ‘Man’,” Remus heaved a sigh.

“You don’t know that. It had to start somewhere. Maybe this bloke started ghosts and ‘Man.’”

“Okay, well you can’t ‘start’ ghosts…”

And this is how the conversation carried on. Hermione lost herself in the foolishness, clapping her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter from bubbling over. She didn’t know what time exhaustion finally claimed them, some ungodly hour undoubtedly. All she knew, was that this was the happiest she had been in a long, long time and that the first ghost had definitely not worried about the pie he had left in the oven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of their friendship? I feel like they'd be typical boys still- you know, teasing each other over girls, and wrestling and swearing but still loving each other and defending one another with all their heart.  
> Also, I have a feeling Hermione would suffer from PTSD and maybe Anxiety so I attempted to write a Panic Attack here. Now, I've never experienced this and whilst I did do my research (thanks google) and looked through the symptons and the NHS etc. I don't know if I'm accurate, so I apologise if I did get it wrong.  
> Thank you guys for reading!


	7. Chapter 7- The Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOO!   
> So this is a short chapter because it was originally supposed to be just the first half to the prank, but then I got carried away and it got progressively longer and I decided to post it as its own chapter because 1) it is extremely late where I am and I can barely see my laptop screen properly 2) it makes the chapter count bigger hehe and 3) I quite like this, it's very sweet and needs to be shared because Sirius is a little puppy and I love him.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy!!  
> Hopefully I will be writing another chapter tomorrow and uploading before/on Friday.....  
> AND IT WILL INCLUDE THE PRANK WHICH I HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT OF (FINALLY)  
> woo!

Chapter Seven- The Story

 

Her eyes opened slowly, sleep still dragging them down. 

They ached with an impossible drowsiness that had Hermione debating rolling over and falling back to sleep, but she couldn’t. Her mind was alert now and she almost groaned when she saw the time. It was only 4am. She had at least two hours before she could actually get up and go anywhere, without waking one of the boys. 

She tried to stretch her fingers, but found that her left hand was still clasped loosely in James’, who had his face pressed into the pillow. His mouth was wide and gaping, drool oozing from his lips, which every now and then moved to form inaudible words. Hermione felt herself smile at him, and let her finger brush over his knuckles. 

Someone was snoring, and she was fairly sure it was Peter, judging from the wheezes that followed. Turning onto her other side, she was startled by how close Sirius was to her. Their noses were inches apart and every breath that escaped from his lips caressed her cheeks. Hermione took this time to admire just how beautiful he really was. He had unfairly long eyelashes, framing his dark eyes, which were closed but fluttering; his skin was flawless, with no imperfections whatsoever. Although, as he shifted slightly, she noticed a small beauty spot near his hairline and bit her lip. Of course he had a beauty spot. 

As he wriggled again, Hermione felt something tighten around her waist and looked down quickly. Sirius’ arm had somehow found its way around her and was now trying to tug her closer. She blushed, eyes widening. She didn’t dare to remove it lest it wake him up, and the warmth radiating from him felt comfortable that Hermione didn’t know if she wanted to anyway. 

Lying back, she let Sirius hold her and she stared up at the ceiling. 

“Videre Per,” she whispered, eyes fixated as the wooden beams rippled into seemingly nothing. The sky outside was dark and she felt tears fall before she could stop them. No clouds marred the night, and the stars twinkled, watching down on the chaotic world below. 

What was she going to do? 

She brought her hand up to her face, pushing her palm into her eyes to try and stop the tears. How could she possibly cope here? She was living in a battlefield, laughing and touching ghosts. 

Hermione moved her hand to her mouth, muffling the sob that threatened to choke her. She couldn’t prevent the tears, and they streamed down her face. 

She couldn’t let the future play out once more. She knew it with such a resolute conviction that any other option was unacceptable. She couldn’t let James and Lily Potter die. She couldn’t let Peter lose himself to Voldemort. She couldn’t let Sirius suffer for a crime he didn’t commit. She couldn’t let Remus face Moony alone. 

Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t she had died side-by-side with Harry-? 

Hermione cut herself off, feeling sick to the stomach. How could she think that? How could she conceivably wish her life away when she had the opportunity to do so much good?

Just the thought made her both drained and giddy. Harry would have his parents. Ron would have his brother. Remus and Tonks would be able to love their son. Harry would be able to marry Ginny, just like he’d always wanted. And they’d have a big wedding with everyone they loved; Mad-Eye Moody would be there, as would Dumbledore and Cedric and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Snape and Peter and Dobby and Fred and Lavender and Colin and Hedwig.

God, there were so many dead. And she knew that those were just the ones that came to mind. How many more people had died fighting? How many people had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort?

Sirius snuggled closer to her, nuzzling his chin into her head. 

“Mmm, Kitten, what are you doing up so- Are you crying?” His drawling, tired voice turned concerned as he lifted his head to look at her.

She wiped at her face quickly. “N-no. I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Sirius… please.”

“Hermione.” He reached up to grip her wrist, gently pulling it down and peered into her blotchy eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Biting her lip, she considered lying. She considered telling him that she had had a nightmare (which was impossible as his arms around her felt far too safe) or that it was just nothing, and that he should try get some sleep. But she couldn’t. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to lie and as her face crumpled and more tears fell, she uttered brokenly, “Everything.”

In a heartbeat, Sirius had wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as was possible. One hand cradled her head, fingers woven into her hair, the other was rubbing her back. He didn’t speak; maybe he knew there was nothing to say. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” He asked, his voice quiet and soft. Wordlessly, she nodded. 

Letting go of her, Sirius stood up and stepped over Remus’ sleeping form, offering Hermione a hand to help her do the same. Once they were both off the bed, he picked up his cloak off the floor and handed it to her (“In case you’re cold.”), before interlocking their fingers and slipping through the dormitory door. 

The Common Room was dark, cast in shadows, and unbelievable quiet. Pools of moonlight spiralled in through the tall windows, illuminating snippets of red and gold. Hermione tightened her grip. 

They walked slowly and quietly through the winding castle, checking the corridors before they turned down them for Filch or “that blasted cat.” Sirius led the way, and she only realised where they were heading as they climbed the stairs. 

The Astronomy Tower.

Immediately, she felt a soothing wave of peace wash of her. During the battle, she hadn’t actually fought up here. This was the one place that wasn’t tainted, or stained with blood. 

The night was fresh, and she walked over to the railing, relishing in the coldness of the metal against her feverish hands. Sirius stepped up next to her.

“I come up here a lot when I need space,” he said, leaning against the balustrade. “When I need time to myself to think, or something…”

“It’s nice,” she agreed. 

“It’s quiet,” he pointed out, glancing at her. “Is that what you needed?”

Hermione looked at him. “What?” 

“You needed quiet to silence the demons in your head.” His voice was knowing, bitter; like he had experienced pure torture, like he had endured it. 

She just continued to stare at him, even as he looked out at the sky. “Yes,” she said finally. “I suppose you’re right.”

They let the silence lapse over their conversation, words drying on their cracked lips. The night was even more breath-taking here. It was like, if you stared long enough, at the same place, her eyes began to decipher the thousands of other stars, invisible in their clusters. They looked like celestial mist, and it struck Hermione how strange it was to think of them as so insignificant, when they amounted to galaxies.

“What were your demons saying?” Sirius asked. He didn’t sound curious, or prying, merely empty.

“That I shouldn’t be here.” 

The sentence slipped from her tongue before she could bite it. 

“Where else would you be?” He frowned. She sighed deeply.

“I should be fighting. I shouldn’t be safe. It’s not fair.”

His eyes shot to her, wide and incredulous. “Are you serious? Hermione, you’ve been fighting in a war. I think you deserve a break!”

“So do the people who are on Death’s doorstep. So did the dead,” she replied bitterly.

She could feel Sirius’ gaze boring into her, burning holes in her skin, but she continued to stare at the sky. All of a sudden, the burden of her knowledge felt heavy and unbearable. Her shoulders felt like they might collapse from the weight of the world. Hermione could feel her heart beating erratically against her ribcage, threating to burst through every layer of skin she had to share this with someone. 

“Sirius,” she stressed, looking directly at him. She pronounced each word slowly and clearly. “There is no war going on here.”

His face turned incredulous. “Of course there isn’t, we’re at Hogwarts!”

No. That wasn’t what she had meant. She meant in this time. She meant she needed him to understand, she needed to confide in him. But how could she? How could she tell him that the girl that landed on him was from the future and had watched him die? How could she tell him what his life was going to become?

"Oh, and Miss Granger, bad things happen to those who meddle with time.”

“Bad things happen to those who meddle with time.”

Hermione was only vaguely aware of her legs giving way, and yet she felt the collision of the cold stone floor vividly. Sirius was beside her in a second, 

“Hermione!” He rushed, kneeling to her level. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She licked her lips and looked up at him. “I’m so tired, Sirius,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he sat on the floor with his legs open, manoeuvring her in between them. She leaned against his chest. “I’ve got you. You can sleep now. I’ve got you.”

“Sirius,” Hermione mumbled. “Can you-?”

She trailed off.

“Anything.”

“Tell me a story?”

He paused, swallowing. It had been years since someone had asked him to do that. The last time he could remember, had been a full moon in their fourth year, one of the worst. Remus had been bloody and bruised, and had weakly asked for a story. Sirius hadn’t even hesitated. 

“Yeah. Of course. Erm… Okay.” He broke off, taking a deep breath before he started, “There were once two princes, who lived in a castle far away and long ago. Now, these two princes were the bestest of friends and the closest of brothers; they loved each other more than life itself. During thunder storms, they found solace in sharing a bed. During conflict, they would hold hands. And as the eldest lay bleeding, his younger brother would tell him stories. Happy stories, with happy endings. You know the ones; with princesses and dragons and knights…” Sirius’ voice shook. “But, whilst they cared very deeply for one another, they were very different. The eldest was rash and bold. He was loud and outspoken, and he defended the poorer townsfolk to his evil mother, The Queen. The youngest, however, whilst he supposedly admired his brother, couldn’t bear to receive the beatings handed out to those who went against The Queen’s wishes. He wasn’t weak… He just played things to his advantage. Manipulated the situation to suit him. I guess you could say he was very Slytherin…

“Anyway, the older brother sneaked out of the castle to play with the town’s children. He had a lot of friends there, good friends; the type of friends you wished you had as a young boy. And the brother’s slowly drifted apart. Where once they would laugh and cry together, there was a nothingness so vapid it was painful. Their relationship was reduced to silent looks, exchanged when no-one was looking… And then Mother found out about the townsfolk children. The eldest brother was beaten and tortured and hurt and as he lay in the dining room, bleeding and broken, his brother walked in and sat with him, clutching his bruised hand. And then he left just the way he came, in silence… 

“That night, he made plans to run away. To join his friends and be rid of the evil Queen once and for all. But leaving would mean leaving his little brother, his oldest friend; the one person he was sure he loved…”

Sirius trailed off, breath tickling the top of her head. Hermione stared at the ground, feeling her eyes droop with tiredness and asked quietly, “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Leave.”

There was silence, where only the faint wind could be heard, rippling the surface of the lake, and snaking its way between the blades of grass below them. Sirius swallowed.

“Yeah. He did.”

She frowned, letting her head fall against his chest. Closing her eyes, she said, “He left him? He left his brother?”

He didn’t answer for a long time before he finally said, “Yeah.”

“I thought he loved him.”

And Sirius licked his lips, resting his chin on the top of her head. He blinked back the tears. “Oh Kitten, I loved him more than he fucking knew.”

But Hermione was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spell Hermione used (Videre Per) is my fictional creation of what was used on the Great Hall ceiling. It's latin translation is literally See Through, and it sounded pretty so I used it:)  
> Hope this was okay!  
> PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT I LOVE THEM THEY MAKE MY DAY! THANK YOU VERY MUCH MY LOVELIES! HAVE AN AMAZING DAY!


	8. Chapter 8- The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING IN AGES! YOUR LOVELY REVIEWS GIVE ME LIFE AND THEY MAKE ME SO SO SO HAPPY THAT YOU GUYS LIKE THIS BECAUSE THIS IS ALL FOR YOU! I AM SO VERY TIRED AND HAVENT PROOF-READ THIS BUT YOU GET TWO CHAPTERS SO I'LL JUST CHECK TOMORROW!
> 
> I love you all very very much. Just like Sirius loves Remus.

Chapter 8- The Morning

 

 

“Hermione.”

 

She moaned, nestling her head into the source of heat. “One moreminute,” she murmured.

 

“Hermione, we need to go. It’s half past 6. Everyone will be getting up soon.”

 

She sighed deeply and cracked open an eye. Sirius was peering down, lips raised in a small smile. Hermione pouted, tipping her head back against his chest to look up at him. In a childlike voice, she asked, “Do I have to?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dropping her head forward, she groaned and after a second of enjoying the comfort, clambered to her feet. Sirius stood too, and offered her his hand, but Hermione didn’t take it. Instead, her eyes were captured by the scene framed by the railings. The sun was in the midst of rising; an impossibly large eye, the darkest hue of orange, blinking away the sleep of the night. The sky was a mishmash assortment of light and white and pale blue.

 

Her mouth parted, and she felt soft all over. When she had been on the hunt for Horcruxes with Harry and Ron, the solitude in the mornings had been sated by the sight of the sunrise, and she remembered being curled up with them both in the tent entrance, silence drinking their conversations dry, listening to the world with attentive ears.

 

“Hermione?”

 

Snapping out of it, she cleared her throat. “Yes, erm. Sorry.”

 

Sirius stood next to her, watching her carefully. Hermione held out her hand, and he took it, before leading her down the winding stairs, with only one backward glance at the sun, which seemed to cast a warm glow of light and life on everything its rays touched. 

 

This time, the journey seemed shorter and every window they passed seemed brighter than the last. When they got back to the Common Room, they found a few people up, lounging across the sofas in front of the crackling fire. The two of them took no notice, heading straight to the boy’s dormitory.

 

The room was silent still; no one was awake yet. Hermione wordlessly collected her clothes from the previous night and made her way into the adjoining bathroom to change.

 

As soon as she was inside, she slid the bolt, thus locking it, and just stood there, staring at some random spot on the opposite wall. Her throat and eyes felt unbearably dry. Her mind was numb. Hermione cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away, and proceeded to get dressed with a sort of halted movement that seemed to ache in her joints.

 

She stopped for a minute when she was fully clothed, catching he appearance in the mirror. Was that really what she looked like? Her hair was matted and hung in thick, tangled strands around her face, which was pale and drawn and looked as tired as her soul felt.

 

Swallowing, Hermione reached for her wand, nonverbally casting a spell that had her hair washed and dried in a matter of seconds. Although she would never admit it, she was slightly grateful for Lavender and Pavarti’s nonsensical gossiping. Another spell had her face regain colour, and covered up the dark circles under her eyes.

 

There, she thought finally. At least she didn’t look like a zombie anymore.

 

She left the bathroom, Remus’ clothes bundled in her arms. But the early-morning fizzle of life stopped her in her tracks.

 

James was up and ready, hair sticking out in every direction. He was grinning, and was, at least in Hermione’s opinion, far too happy for this time of a morning. As his eyes locked on hers, his face lit up and he started blindly waltzing towards her.

 

“Good morning!” He beamed, swooping down and popping a kiss on her cheek, before he danced around her and into the bathroom. The shower started shortly after.

 

Hermione’s eyebrows were furrowed, her face frozen in a mingled expression of shock and disbelief. She let her eyes find the other boys.

 

Sirius, it seemed, had clambered back into bed, and now had his head shoved under his pillow. Remus was still sleeping soundly, and, judging from the loud snores erupting from the far side of the room, so was Peter.

 

She allowed herself to smile, moving over to the nearest windows. The slightly out-of-key whistles reached her ears suddenly, and the screeching sound of curtains being opened accompanied the light that flooded the room. Sirius groaned.

 

He shoved his head deeper under the pillow in a failed attempt to get a few more hours of sleep, but his friend had turned on the shower and was singing Celestina Warbeck.

 

“‘From the marshy bogs of Queerditch

 

Grew a sport so fine and fair

 

In which each witch and wizard

 

Would take flight through the air.

 

We sit and watch in wonder

 

At each game the players play

 

And dream our team will reign supreme

 

Thus we cannot help but say...’”

 

Hermione’s hand shot to cover her mouth. With wide eyes, she stifled a squealing laugh. Sirius’ muffled voice was barely audible but everyone, bar the object of his anger, heard it nevertheless; “Don’t… Don’t. James. Don’t you fucking dare, Potter…”

 

But it was futile.

 

“’BEAT BACK THOSE BLUDGERS, BOYS, AND CHUCK THAT QUAFFLE HERE

 

NO TEAM CAN EVER BEST THE BEST OF PUDDLEMERE!

 

YOU’LL CATCH THAT GOLDEN SNITCH WITH THE EASIEST OF EASE

 

GRAB YOUR BEATER’S BAT AND IN NO TIME

 

PROVE THE GAME IS YOURS TO SEIZE!’”

 

Remus erupted in laughter, doubling over so that his torso and head were leaning off the bed. He shoved his face into his mattress to try and stop himself, but couldn’t. Hermione’s hand fell from her mouth and the chorus of mirth echoed around the room. Sirius scowled. “Fucking ponce. For Christ’s Sake.”

 

His choice of swear sobered both Hermione and Remus up. They exchanged glances and the latter looked at his tired and grumpy friend with confusion. “Christ? That’s a Muggle swear, isn’t it?”

 

Sirius shrugged grudgingly. “Think so. Heard it at a Muggle park, near my Mother’s house.”

 

“Do you even know who Christ is?” Hermione asked curiously.

 

He pulled a face. “Yeah! Of course. Something like Jebus Christ! Didn’t really care much for what he had to say, but the guy had some fucking good hair!”

 

“Hair… Of course. Out of all the things that you could possibly remember about Jesus Christ-“

 

“Jebus,” Sirius corrected, with a pointed look. Remus sighed.

 

“Jebus…” Remus adjusted hesitantly, hardly finding the energy to argue with his friend this early in the morning.

 

Hermione said, “You do know that he supposedly could walk on water? And he was a magnificent healer.”

 

“Really?” Sirius asked, intrigued. Then his face curled into a small, irritable frown. “Bet he wouldn’t be able to heal James’ bloody body after I’m done with him.”

 

Speaking of James, the shower turned off and a loud racket was heart from the bathroom on the opposite side of the room, next to Peter’s bed, who was still sound asleep, snoring peacefully.

 

“Fucking lucky lump,” Sirius muttered, rolling over to hide his face again.

 

He didn’t hear the bathroom door opening, therefore as he was too busy mourning the time he could have spent sleeping. He didn’t hear the creak of the floorboards as a wet, towel-clothed boy crept closer and closer to his bed. But he did hear the scream of “SIRIUS!” as a practically naked James Potter jumped on him, ripping the covers open and shared his wetness.

 

Sirius screamed a high-pitch, girly scream that had Remus snorting all over again and roused Peter from his slumber. Hermione doubled over, clutching her stomach which hurt from laughing so much. Tears were actually pooling in her eyes.

 

“Wasgoinon?” The fourth roommate slurred.

 

He didn’t need an answer as his eyes landed on the two boys screaming and cuddling/wrestling on the bed.

 

“Oh.” He pulled a face. “You know, after four years of this, I should be used to it.”

 

Peter stared for a little longer, before climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom to get ready.

 

Remus got up too, running a hand through his hair and walking over to the chest of drawers to collect some uniform. His eyes met Hermione’s and rolled, head tipping towards the two boys. She bit her lip, but her smile conquered.

 

He threw a pair of folded up socks at the pair, still wrestling (James still had the upper-hand, holding Sirius in a choke hold, whilst trying to retain his dignity and keep his towel up).

 

“Stop it, you two. Platonically gay, I swear.”

 

“Hey!” Sirius protested. “We are not gay! We are manly men!”

 

“Yeah!” James agreed. “We’ve only snogged twice!”

 

Sirius nodded eagerly, as if this prove everything and Remus just sighed.

 

"Well, that's a relief!" He said sarcastically. "You had me worried there! I thought that I would have to be the one to inform both your fan clubs that their obsessive stalking was futile.”

 

“You wouldn’t!” Sirius gasped in horror.

 

Remus raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk to tilting his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

 

Hermione schooled her face into one of seriousness. “He would. He’s evil, you know. But Remus, just imagine the heartbreak you’d cause!” She cried, clutching her chest.

 

“They’d get over it, I’m sure.” He replied dryly. “Maybe it would bring them to their senses and alert them of the more eligible men at this school.”

 

“Like yourself, I’m sure,” she laughed.

 

He spread his arms wide, grin playing his lips. “Well, if you insist.”

 

Sirius pulled a face. “Oh, stop flirting. It’s too early for tomfoolery!”

 

Remus’ eyebrows shot half way up his forehead. “Sirius Black?! Claiming it’s too early for tomfoolery! My, we must be sickening, Hermione, to put Sirius off romance for the day!”

 

Hermione just laughed loudly, swatting him.

 

“I never said the day,” Sirius protested. “Just a few minutes. I’ll be over it soon, I’m sure. You listening, Prongs? Remy and Herms are trying to put me off tomfoolery!”

 

“Herms?” Hermione questioned distastefully.

 

James didn’t reply.

 

“Prongs?”

 

He was silent, staring at the door longingly, oblivious to what was going on.

 

Sirius and Remus both instinctively looked at each other. Hermione was about to open her mouth to ask what was going on, when she noticed the glint in their eyes, and sealed her lips.

 

His shaggy-haired friend was prowling closer and closer to the lanky prefect, who had pulled out his wand. A particularly strange spell was on the very tip of Remus’ lips, when James said, “Maybe he’s right, Padfoot. Maybe you should settle down with one girl…”

 

Sirus and Remus both stopped and stared at their third friend, dumbfounded.

 

“Settle down? Settle down? Remus, are you hearing this? And he calls himself my brother! James, do you not know me at all?” Sirius cried, throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulder.

 

“Yes, it does seem a little unrealistic and highly un-Sirius.”

 

“We’ve already discussed this,” he whined, pouting a little. “I’m not selfish enough to deny the entire female population a piece of me by tying myself down to one girl.”

 

Hermione laughed loudly then, hardly finding the control to hold it back.

 

Remus scoffed lightly, shrugging the slumping Sirius off and walking back to his bed to get ready to school. James rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

 

“I know, I know… but… I don’t know mate, some girls are… they’re worth it.”

 

And even though he didn’t say it, he didn’t have to. Everyone in the room knew immediately what, or who, he was talking about. A famous redhead with emerald eyes and a countless galaxy of freckles. But only one knew just how worth it that one girl was.

 

Apart from Peter, who stood in the bathroom doorway, with a towel tied around his chest, like a woman would have. A turban-like towel circled his head.

 

He looked between his friends before pulling a face and saying, “I’m confused. What are we talking about?”

 

Remus sighed and said, “The love of Jame’s life.”

 

“The apple of his eye,” Sirius added with a flourish, flicking his hair.

 

Peter understood immediately and snorted, making his way over to his own bed.

 

“Hey Hermione,” he beamed and she felt her heart soften at his droopy features.

 

“Morning, Peter.”

 

“Anyway,” Sirius clapped his hands together. “Today is the day.”

 

He announced it like it was the start of something revolutionary, and maybe it was. Hermione wasn’t really sure.

 

“Two months, we have been planning this for. Two months of thinking and planning and waiting and brewing and more waiting and planning and waiting and now!” His finger jabbed into the air, and he jumped on the bed rather flawlessly (at least, until he stepped back and his foot caught in the blankets, but he recovered soon enough). “This is the day that we embrace our school and all of its quirks and we unite as houses because of our shared attributes! This is the day of change and of unity!”

 

Hermione squinted her eyes at him. Leaning into Remus, she asked uncertainly, “Is he being serious?”

 

He sucked the air through his teeth. “Well, Hermione. He happens to be Sirius pretty much all the time. Except for when he’s not. Which is never.”

 

She scowled at him, slapping his arm. “You know what I mean! Is this,” cue a gesture to the dramatic speech that was still ongoing, “a one-time thing- has he not gotten enough sleep?- or is he naturally this crazy?”

 

“Oh no. They like to psych themselves up,” Remus replied, pointing out Peter, who had his hand over his heart and chin held high, and James, who was wiping away tears.

 

Sirius continued, “This day is a glorious example of the most perfect prank the world has ever seen! We, my friends, will go down in Hogwarts history as the most marauding Marauders to ever walk the halls!”

 

James, Peter and Remus all cheered, with calls of “Here! Here!” and “Preach!” Hermione laughed again, joining in, leaning on Remus, who wrapped his arms around her and tried to lift her up. She screamed, before breaking down into more laughter and not for the first time, wondered how on earth she could find so much amusement in her predicament. But now, what was rare with this time, she didn’t feel guilty at basking in the safety of the 70’s, rather a tranquil sense of serenity, like she could maybe belong.


	9. Chapter 9- The Prank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: WARNING I HAVE NOT PROOF-READ THIS BECAUSE IT IS VERY LATE BUT I AM DETERMINED TO PUT THIS UP!! I will check it tomorrow, when I get back from school, but until then, you will have to deal with my multiple mistakes I'm afraid! 
> 
> Anyway, you shouldn't be complaining- YOU GET TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE NIGHT WOOO!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it... The much awaited for... PRANK!

Chapter 9- The Prank

 

 

Hermione poked her head around the corner, eyes sweeping the expanse of corridor. It was empty. Remus said it would be.

 

Turning back around, she nodded, “Empty.”

 

Remus met her gaze, before turning to address the other three. “You know the plan,” he said. “Infiltrate. Guard. Spike. Leave.”

 

“Simple and succinct,” Sirius commented refreshingly. James turned to look at him in surprise.

 

“Succinct,” he repeated. “That’s new for you, Pads.”

 

“I’ve tried this new thing. You know, learn a new word every day and then it use it in a sentence?”

 

“And let me guess,” Peter said. “Today’s word was ‘succinct’?”

 

“Oh no. That was last Wednesday’s word,” Sirius replied, before adding hastily at the other’s looks, “I’m a little behind, okay?”

 

Before Remus could open his mouth, a sharp whistling broke the emptiness of the corridor and Hermione frowned, peaking around the corner again. Her eyes widened and she managed to hold back a gasp, before her head reappeared.

 

“Professor McGonagall!” She hissed incredulously.

 

“What’s she doing here?”

 

“Weren’t you supposed to monitor the goings-on of the kitchen, Pete?”

 

Peter stepped back, arms raised in surrender as he said defensively, “Hey! I did as I was told! I haven’t seen her for the past couple of weeks!”

 

“Couple of weeks? Jesus, Pete, I thought we said a couple of months!”

 

Freezing, Peter’s mouth opened, before he gritted his teeth, seemingly deep in thought. As he reached his conclusion, he sucked in his lips, nodding and said, “Yeah. You know, now you mention it- that rings a bell.”

 

“Does it?” Sirius asked sarcastically. Peter merely smiled and nodded again.

 

“Fuck,” Remus muttered and Hermione’s eyes widened as her previous teacher cursed in front of her. He noticed her reaction, grinning sheepishly, before it fell and he peered around the corner. “Okay. We’re going to need a change of plan.”

 

James nodded, folding his arms. “What do you suggest?”

 

“We still need to infiltrate… It’s just we might need a slight detour…” Remus frowned, trailing off.

 

“A distraction!” Hermione announced, her voice an excited whisper. “We need a distraction.” Her mind was on overdrive, and she knew she was working against the clock as the clicking footsteps of the deputy Headmistress loomed nearer. She felt that familiar spiking of adrenaline and had to admit that she had missed this feeling; this bated trepidation of thinking on her feet. “We need a distraction,” she repeated and her gaze fell on Sirius and James.

 

“No,” James refused straight away. “Not again.”

 

Hermione winced. “Please, James…”

 

“Why us? Why are we the bait? Why are we always the bait? Is there something prematurely baitable about us?! Am I expendable to you people?! What is it??” His arms flung about wildly, eyebrows wagging, voice ranging on high-pitched.

 

“Because you’re too incompetent to be anything else,” Remus muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, as though he were stressed. Hermione heard this and couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Although he didn’t look at her, his lips seemed to curve and widen.

 

“Well, better acquiesce to the lady’s plan with alacrity!” Sirius said, clapping his hands together. At four blank looks, he dropped his arms and said, “Thursday and Friday’s word.”

 

Peter nodded in understanding.

 

 

*

 

 

With that hesitant and somewhat unofficial agreement, Sirius dragged a still mumbling James around the corner, and Peter, Hermione and Remus heard a far too gleeful, “Alright, Minnie? How’s the cat-thing going?”

 

Counting to five, the three of them peaked around to take in the scene. Professor McGonagall had her back to them, and Sirius and James were retelling a story of when James tried to convince the heard of centaurs in the Forbidden Forest to adopt him because he wanted to be ‘in touch with his inner horse’.

 

As James animatedly re-enacted running away, he skilfully manoeuvred their professor to turn to allow the three of them a safe pass. As they made it through, Hermione turned back to look and saw Sirius now playing an angry centaur and running after James, who was screaming and waving his arms above his head. She couldn’t hold back her bewilderment.

 

They rounded the corner and only stopped when they were in front of the fruit portrait, which Hermione knew concealed the kitchens.

 

Remus clapped Peter on the back and said, “Remember the signal. If anyone comes-”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “I know, Moony. Calm down. I won’t screw this up.”

 

“We know you won’t, Peter,” Hermione said. “Remus is just a worrywart.”

 

Peter’s eyes softened, falling to his feet, and his lips formed a smile. But as she tickled a pear and the two of them stepped back, Peter’s back straightened and his eyes became alert.

 

Offended, the worrywart in question shot her a perturbed glance and asked in disbelief, “Did you just call me a worrywart?”

 

“Yes, Remus dear, now do concentrate. Infiltration complete.”

 

And she stepped into the kitchen, Remus couldn’t help shaking his head in wonder before grinning and following her in.

 

A chorus of cheerful House Elves greeted them as soon as the portrait had swung shut.

 

“Hello Master Remus!”

 

“What can I do for you today, Master Remus?”

 

“Who’s the Miss, Master Remus?”

 

“We made some more chocolate tart for you, Master Remus!”

 

Hermione, overwhelmed by this display, turned to him and said, “Master Remus?”

 

Blushing slightly, Remus rubbed the back of his neck and said to the House Elves, “Not now, thank you. I just came to do that thing we talked about.” All of their perked ears drooped, before he added quickly, “But save me some of that chocolate tart, won’t you? We can’t let your exceptional cooking go to waste, Minky.”

 

The elf Hermione assumed was Minky beamed with blatant delight.

 

“Of course, Master Remus. If Master Remus and Miss would follow Minky, I’s will show you.”

 

With a shared glance, they followed the little elf through the kitchen until they stopped at a heavy wooden door. All Minky did was touch it with her little finger, and it opened, revealing one of the strangest views Hermione had ever seen.

 

It appeared upon first glance to be an empty basement, with dark walls and floor, but an undeniable warmth flooded the room. Upon second glance, one noticed the four long tables clinging to the ceiling with an absurd ease. The house tables, Hermione realised when she took in their specific décor.

 

She gasped suddenly. “Oh my,” she breathed. “This is how they get the food up.”

 

Remus chuckled. “Yes. Quite extraordinary, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Exceptionally. Oh wow…”

 

She trailed off, spinning around, her eyes glued to the tables above her head. Even the utensils and plates were in their correct positions.

 

Frowning, a question popped into her mind. “But how do they get the food up?”

 

Her eyes fell on Remus, who was leaning against the wall and smiling. “Minky, why don’t you show Hermione how brilliant you are?”

 

“Yes, Master Remus!”

 

With a motion that looked easy to the eye, Minky held up the plate of bacon she had been holding, scrunched up her face and pushed it into the air, before moving her hands. For a split second, Hermione was convinced the plate would come smashing back down, but it didn’t. Slowly, but surely, it hovered up and up until it reached one of the tables, where it halted, spun upside down and attached itself to the wood.

 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “What-? How? That’s amazing!”

 

“They are, aren’t they?” Remus agreed, smiling eyes looking at Minky, who rubbed her hands bashfully.

 

He regained his composure, and said, “Well, down to business.”

 

Moving over to stand next to her, he retrieved four glass vials from his pocket which each held a gloopy solution she recognised immediately, “Polyjuice Potion!”

 

Remus looked at her. “You’re familiar with it?”

 

Pausing, she licked her lips and tried to prevent the stutter that threatened to give her away as she said, “Vaguely. We had to learn it. Awfully deceiving… Which brings to question why you have four vials of the stuff?”

 

He blushed then. “Part of the plan.”

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and he hurriedly continued. “It’s been altered slightly. So the effects are lessened.”

 

“In what way?” She questioned curiously. “Like a partial transformation or a shorter time restriction?”

 

“Both?”

 

“Oh, you seem sure! That’s really encouraging!”

 

Remus just laughed, offering her the red-tinted potion. She took it unsurely. He then gave Minky the blue and yellow-tinted ones, keeping the green for himself.

 

“Now, did you see what Minky did?” He began, moving away from her to the far table. She started to follow, but he stopped her. “Ah ah, stay there.”

 

Tilting her head to the side, she did as she was told. Minky took her stance underneath the other two. “I… vaguely remember.”

 

“Good, good. So, lift it above you head. Yes, just like that. Now, focus on what you want it to do.”

 

“And what is that exactly?” Hermione asked, her arms stretched above her head, the vial clutched in her sweaty fingers.

 

“You want it to float. You want it to stay in the bottle until it gets close enough to the table above you, and then you want it to disperse equally into every single glass on that table,” Remus explained.

 

“Oh, okay. That’s a- er- very aspirational desire.”

 

He laughed. “You could say that.”

 

She let her mind imagine the vial floating above her heads, let the craving overtake it, focused on the magic and sparks that fizzled in her bloodstream. Hermione closed her eyes, screwing her face up in concentration. And the glass bottle left her grip.

 

Gasping, she looked up, just in time to see it falter as her focus drifted. But she had it under control again soon enough, and the vial floated placidly upwards, towards the table. Once it got mere inches away from the wood, she pictured it opening and flying into every goblet. Reality complied.

 

Once this was done, the vial drifted down and back into her awaiting hand and she smiled proudly, looking at Remus, who was doing what she had just done.

 

“Bit slow, aren’t we Lupin?” Hermione teased.

 

His eyes shot to her and the beaker wobbled in the air, but it maintained its position. He huffed a laugh and said, “That’s because I was watching-”

 

He broke off, chuckling uncomfortably, as his vial met his fingers once more.

 

“Is that all?” She asked, surprised as he started walking to the door where Minky was waiting.

 

“Is that all?” Remus repeated incredulously. “Is that all? My lovely Hermione, you do not even know the extent to your actions!”

 

“Well, no I wouldn’t, since you boys hardly told me anything!”

 

He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You need to see it. Telling you would ruin it.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see,” she said sardonically.

 

Remus started laughing until a loud whale sound cut through the bustle of the kitchen. His expression dropped and he met her gaze.

 

“Peter,” was all he said and they rushed, dodging House Elves to get to the front.

 

“Did he just make a whale sound?” Hermione asked incredulously.

 

“Sirius likes whales.”

 

The elves stopped to watch them pass and only when they got to the exit, did one of them say, “Already going, Master Remus?”

 

Knocking on the door, Remus said, “Yes, Dot, I’m afraid I’ve got to get going. Thank you all, though. Your work is exceptional and I’m coming back for some chocolate tart later!” A reply knock came and, after Hermione had practically beamed at all of the elves, they both disappeared through the hole in the wall.

 

Peter was pacing, and his head shot up when they came into view. “Thank Merlin! McGonagall is coming! Turns out she does a monthly inspection of the kitchens!”

 

“Well, that would have been such useful information to have,” Remus said sarcastically. Peter just stuck his tongue out.

 

They dashed along the corridor, turning the corner with caution where McGonagall was stood with James and Sirius, who looked to be desperately vying for her attention. When they noticed the three others, they both straightened up, grinning from ear to ear and said, “Well, Minnie. We’d better be going. Wouldn’t want to miss breakfast!”

 

“Most important meal of the day!”

 

“Actually helps you lose weight!”

 

“Not that you need to lose weight, Minnie. You’re perfect! You’re positively glowing!”

 

“Why, that’s not at all sycophantic- he’s right, you know.”

 

James leaned into Sirius and asked, “Was that Saturday’s word?”

 

“Damn right.”

 

Hermione, Remus and Peter had used this time to edge around their professor and duck around the next corner. James and Sirius appeared moments later, their eyes wide.

 

“Executed,” Remus affirmed.

 

“Flawlessly,” Hermione added.

 

James grinned. “Well, that does make things smashing, doesn’t it? C’mon.” He slung his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, “Don’t want you to miss it, do we?”

 

They reached the Great Hall, to find it full of students. As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, the five of them made sure to not touch anything, too excited to eat and too aware to drink.

 

Remus began counting down under his breath.

 

“1.”

 

James bounced.

 

“2.”

 

Sirius’ eyes shot to the Slytherin table with a barely concealed eagerness.

 

“3.”

 

Peter couldn’t stop smiling, his teeth wide and bright.

 

“4.”

 

The anticipation in his voice made Remus tense.

 

“5.”

 

Hermione held her breath…

 

 

And chaos erupted.

 

Every student leapt from their seats, or cried out in outrage as their features were replaced with animal assets. The Slytherin’s, as true to their name, either adopted forked tongues, or grew patches of scales, or could speak in only Parseltongue. The Ravenclaw’s sprouted wings, or spat up feathers, or had their fingers replaced with talons, their noses with beaks. The Hufflepuff’s had black and white fur growing in tufts, or snouts protruding from their faces. And finally, the Gryffindor’s roared audaciously, with their luxurious manes or sleek golden skin, or whiskers or paws.

 

The Houses were, after all, embodied by their students, and oh, how the tables had turned!

 

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing. It seemed everyone had had a drink that morning, and she now understood the brilliance in their simplicity, the absolute, sheer awesomeness in their ideas.

 

Remus looked around in awe, before banging on the table and saying, “You know what, I refuse to sit down and not take credit for this.” And he stood up on the table and bowed.

 

The other three Marauders followed suit, bowing and applauding themselves and cheering for tomorrow, and when Sirius offered her his hand, Hermione took it and allowed him to pull her up to bask in their brilliant aftermath.

 

She honestly couldn’t believe it, and as the Great Hall swarmed with half-human, half-animal hybrids, she laughed and felt euphoric.

 

Sirius, grinning like a maniac, jumped up and down, raising his arms wide and shouting, “Embrace your House! Embrace your House, you dodgy bastards and know that this was brought to you by the Marauders!”


	10. Chapter 10- The Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'VE UPDATED! IT'S 1AM BUT I'VE UPDATED! AND I'VE EVEN STARTED ON THE NEXT CHAPTER! I'm so so so sorry for not posting anything! I actually forgot all about it, because I originally had writers block, and then I got a lovely review and realised that I had to post something! Anyway, this is just a hint at what's to come: a kind of introduction to the next chapter, which should be up tomorrow (but, with my track record, probably won't be... I know, I'm a terrible person.)
> 
> Just a quick note, the information on boggarts is taken word for word off of Harry Potter Wiki, which is the best Wiki ever!! 
> 
> Also, please review!! They make my day! Please tell me what you liked, what you didnt like, what you want to see, what you don't want to see etc. I'm very interested in you guys!! 
> 
> Thank you so much! Sorry for any mistakes!!

Chapter Ten- The Lesson

 

The buzz of the school made Hermione's blood fizz with an addictive craving for life. Laughter echoed through her bones, and she felt it even as they were filing in to their first class of the day.

 

Some of the students, the luckier ones, had already outgrown their animalistic features. Others, however, such as Lily, were still sporting whiskers or the like. The redhead was practically fuming that they hadn't worn off yet, and whilst she had been bursting with laughter earlier (Marlene's tail had her practically crying), her amusement subsided when Mary had pointed out that when she wrinkled her nose, the whiskers wiggled, and James had gushed at how cute she looked.

 

They had quickly escaped the chaos that ensued after breakfast, avoiding detention and the angry outburst of the students. Although from what they could see, (yes, she looked disapproving) Professor McGonnagall appeared rather proud, and Dumebledore was beaming, so they weren’t at risk anyway.

 

“Did you see Snivellus?” Sirius cried, eyes scrunched tightly as he laughed. He threw an arm around Hermione, who stumbled under his trembling weight. Another short burst of amusement, a single Ha! escaped his lips and he flopped his head on his arm and, by default, Hermione’s shoulder. She exchanged an incredulous look with Remus, who just snorted.

 

James commented thoughtfully, “I wonder if the potency of the potion reflects the amount of pure evil inside a person.”

 

Peter pulled a face, looking as though he had swallowed something sour.

 

“You do realise Lily still has her whiskers,” Remus said. “Are you calling her evil?”

 

Gasping theatrically, James clutched a hand to his heart and said, aghast, “I would never!” He paused, before adding seriously, “Although she’s got a dark side to her; you haven’t seen the colour of her soul. I guarantee it’s pitch black.”

 

“Mine is mauve,” Sirius said mildly, to no one in particular.

 

“How do you know what colour her soul is?” Remus asked, exasperated.

 

“An inkling.”

 

Not for the first time that morning, Remus glanced at Hermione, and shook his head in disbelief at his friends and their stupidity.

 

“What class have we got first?” Hermione asked, feeling her shoulder go numb from the dead weight that was Sirius.

 

Peter wrinkled his nose in thought, and then groaned, tipping his head back in anguish. “Defence!”

 

She laughed, looping her arm with his, shrugging Sirius off. The latter assumed an offended front. The small boy (and still, he was a few inches taller than her) blushed deeply. “Not your thing, huh?”

 

“N-no. I prefer History of Magic,” he admitted, and he seemed almost embarrassed at the fact.

 

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “I loved learning about the 1612 Goblin Rebellion! It’s so fascinating! But the prejudice just gets me so angry!”

 

Peter’s eyes lit up and he said, “You know, it happened in Hogsmeade?”

 

“Really?” She lied, feeling a sense of happiness at the pride blossoming on his otherwise perpetually ashamed face.

 

“Yeah! The inn was actually the headquarters for the whole thing!”

 

Schooling her features into one of surprise, she nodded along, feigning interest as Peter continued telling her things she already knew. Hermione felt eyes on her, and switched her attention to the other three boys.

 

James was staring at her. There was nothing extraordinary in the way he was looking at her, but there was a softness to his eyes and a slackness to the set of his jaw; it was the type of look he had only ever given his very best friends. It was the very same look Harry used to give Ron.

 

Choked, she smiled at him, and he didn’t really seem to notice her. It was almost as if he wasn’t looking at her, but through her, staring at her soul with a breathless intensity that had Hermione hot and cold all over. Then, he blinked, and seemed to finally see her, and he smiled back, and looked away.

 

But even as she turned to Peter, she felt his eyes flick to her more than once, with the same softness, and felt her throat go dry.

 

They eventually reached the classroom, located on the 4th floor, after a particularly graphic tapestry of Herdunk the Hideous slaughtering trolls. Hermione grimaced when she saw it, remembering her distaste for it back in her time.

 

They slipped through the doorway, just as first period officially began.

 

The majority of the seats were already taken, by a mixture of all the houses, and even as the Marauders sat down in their usual seats, Hermione remained standing, loitering at the back, unsure of where to go.

 

“Kitten,” Sirius called. Sniggers erupted from the other side of the classroom, where the entirety of students with green ties sat, at the nickname. He shot a poisonous glare at them, before turning to her and patting the chair beside him. A charming smile morphed his features, and it was such a drastic contrast, Hermione paused momentarily.

 

“There’s no need for that.” A voice from the front of the room shattered that thought in her head. It was a warbled voice, weathered by age and wisdom, and shook with the promise of authority. “Today will be a practical lesson. No sitting down required.”

 

The voice, it turned out, belonged to an older woman, with straight grey hair, that reached her shoulders in strict precision- although, quite a few stray strands shot up in all different directions on top of her head, giving the impression she had just been electrocuted. This impression was furthered by the pinkness of her cheeks. She was small and stout, and rather round in shape, and wore a dark purple robe and hat.

 

“Now, come to the front- that’s it! And mind out of the way of the desks! Don’t want to knock any of you over before class has even begun!”

 

Once all the students were gathered at the front, the woman raised her hand and swept it across the expanse of the classroom and watched with satisfaction as all of the furniture tottered over to the far side of the room. She clapped her hands in delight, and smiled at the class. Her skin wrinkled, laughter lines protruding in a way that made Hermione feel a rush of fondness for her new professor. She reminded her immensely of Mrs Weasley.

 

“My name is Professor Meryl, for those of you who don’t know me,” her eyes, twinkling and bright like Dumbledore’s (Hermione wondered vaguely if all wise old people had twinkling eyes), lingered on her and the smile widened. “I am your Defence against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. I would like to think I am a gentle woman, but I expect the very best from the brightest bunch of students Hogwarts has to offer. If I do not feel your work is up to my standard, I will regretfully exclude you from my class. Is that understood?”

 

Hermione nodded. Her fondness increased tenfold; maybe this year, she’d actually have a decent DADA teacher.

 

“Tough and ruthless; just the way I like ‘em,” Sirius commented refreshingly, winking at Professor Meryl, who laughed good-naturedly.

 

“Today, we are going to be learning about Boggarts! First and foremost, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?”

 

Hand shooting into the air, Hermione felt a rush of relief as Professor Meryl raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Yes, Miss-?”

 

“Granger, Miss.”

 

“Miss Granger,” the Professor corrected.

 

“A boggart is an amortal shape-shifting non-being that takes on the form of the viewer's worst fear. Because of their shape-shifting ability, no one knows what a boggart looks like when it is alone, as it instantly changes into one's worst fears when one first see it. They can be found in a range of dark, confined spaces.”

 

Professor Meryl’s eyebrows shot even further up into her hairline, almost dissipating into the grey there. “Very well done! I already know what a valuable addition you’ll make to this year’s class, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor!”

 

James clapped her on the back, grinning proudly. Remus quirked a wonky smile at her. Hermione felt warm inside.

 

“And do we know how to defeat a boggart?”

 

Again, her hand invaded the air, and Meryl looked equally pleased and amused. She chose, instead, a Ravenclaw boy; the only other volunteer.

 

“Laughter,” he said simply.

 

Hermione sighed, and added, “Laughter is the main weakness of a boggart because it depends and thrives off of fear. Therefore, the first step to defeating one, is to force the creature to assume an amusing form, by casting the spell Riddikulus. It causes the creature to unwittingly assume a form that is humorous to the caster, provoking laughter and thereby counteracting the Boggart's ability to terrorise.”

 

The class was silent. Then, Peter started clapping, before realising that no one else was going to join in, and he slowly lowered his hands to his sides again. Professor Meryl regarded Hermione with interest.

 

“Intriguing,” she muttered. “You’re a very intelligent girl, Miss Granger.”

 

She blushed profusely. “Thank you, Professor.”

 

“I wonder… Where were you schooled before you came here?”

 

Freezing, the truth died in her throat, and a hint of a lie burned her tongue. “I was home-schooled.”

 

“Ah, I see.” She trailed off, then clapped her hands (it seemed she liked doing that) and said, “Right! I want you to repeat after me: Riddikulus.”

 

“Riddikulus.”

 

“Very good, remember to emphasise the kul! Riddikulus- you see? Now with the wand action.”

 

And Professor Mereyl demonstrated, waving her wand in a swift and agile way, drawing what could best be described as a shallow bowl, complete with lavish flicks at the start and end. The class mimicked her movement.

 

“Brilliant! Now stand in a line. You’re going to take turns defeating this little beauty that I found in my old Grandfather clock a month or two ago.” She jabbed her wand into the empty space next to her, and a chest, bolted shut with multiple iron locks, appeared out of thin air. It juddered violently. The wood screamed. As she fiddled with the chains, Meryl said, “It isn’t compulsory. Whilst I would prefer for you to all do it, I don’t think we’ll have time. So if you’re less keen to face your greatest fear, join the back of the queue and count your lucky stars.”

 

The students burst into mumbling sound, shuffling to either the front or back of a makeshift line. James stared at each of them equally, checking for hesitance. They all felt it, nibbling at the back of their mind. For both he and Hermione, hesitance came in the form of dread; of fear of the unknown. They had no idea what was going to appear in front of them, and even less of an idea as to how to defeat it. For Sirius and Remus, on the other hand… They knew exactly what they were going to see, and it was that knowledge that fuelled their reluctance.

 

Peter was just plain scared.

 

“What? Too afraid, are you Lupin?” A slick, low voice drawled, disrupting their considerations. Severus Snape was even greasier as a teenager than he was as an adult. His black hair fell to his shoulders, and similarly dark eyes peered out at them from a sallow face, over a large hooked nose. It seemed his scales had finally worn off, but patches of his skin still looked to be tinted green.

 

“Ironic, really,” Sirius said loudly, fixing Snape with a filthy look. “Slytherins taking Defence against the Dark Arts, when they are the Dark Arts.”

 

And all too vividly, a boy with hair the colour of untouched sunlight and icy eyes swam before Hermione. She found it hard to swallow.

 

Snape sneered. He continued on, as though Sirius had never even spoken. “Know exactly what you’ll see, don’t we both Lupin? Or should I say Moony-?”

 

In a split second, Sirius had lifted Snape off of his feet, one hand twisted in his collar, while the other held his wand in an unbelievably tight grip to his throat. “You might want to consider apologising, Snivellus. Before I do something I won’t regret.”

 

Peter said, in a voice as cold and sharp as flint, “I’d do it anyway, Sirius.”

 

Hermione watched this unfurl with bated shock. James had his arms folded across his chest, clearly unwilling to intervene and prevent Sirius from giving the Slytherin what he deserved. She glanced at Remus, and, with what felt like a blow to her gut, found him staring at his feet, disdain and shame evident on his pale face. She felt sick, and angry, and she really hated Severus Snape.

 

Taking a deep breath, she strode up, and unhooked him from Sirius’ clutches. The latter looked at her in surprise. She slid her wand into her hand, lifting it up to Snape’s face and said, in a low and silky voice, “Why don’t, instead of tormenting someone who is ten times the man you’ll ever be, you focus on your own issues and wash that greasy hair of yours?” His face flushed a blotchy purple. Hermione leaned closer. “Oh, and if I ever hear you even hinting anything about Remus, I will personally ensure you never speak again. Understood?”

 

He nodded robotically. She smoothed down his collar, letting the tip of her wand jab him, not so gently, in the neck, for good measure. “I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she smiled.

 

Pushing away from her, Snape turned around and immediately bee-lined to the back of the classroom.

 

Hermione spun around… And found all four boys watching her in awe.

 

“Hermione,” James began, before he cut off. Then, he let out a low whistle. “That was bloody brilliant!”

 

Sirius grinned, grabbing her arm to tug her closer to him, and then clasping both her cheeks in the palm of his hands, squashed her face. “I could kiss you right now, Kitten.”

 

Her eyes widened and through forced pouted lips, she managed to get out a “Please don’t.”

 

Peter was simply laughing, hard and silently. “His face!” He wheezed. “You shoulda seen his face!”

 

The three boys disbanded, merging into the front of the slowly forming line, reliving the moment before. Remus stepped in front of her. His cheeks were red, his eyes were both dazed and intense, and she wondered briefly how something could be such a contrast at the same time, before she realised that everything about the Marauders was a juxtaposition. There were loud, yet quiet; brilliant, yet stupid; loving, yet dangerous.

 

He scratched his neck; a habit of his, it seemed. “You didn’t have to do that,” Remus said quietly, awkwardly, looking everywhere but at her.

 

“Yes I did.”

 

There was silence. Then:

 

“Remus, I-”

 

“Right! Finally got this little bugger sorted!” Professor Meryl’s voice cut through the tenderness of their conversation, and Remus’ eyes, which had only just met hers, apologised, even though he had nothing to apologise for. “Who’s going first? Ah, Miss Meadowes! Start when you’re ready- and remember, I’m right here if you need me to intervene.”

 

Dorcas Meadowes was a tall and pretty girl, with brown hair and brown eyes and a demanding presence that screamed intelligence and daringness. She stepped forward, and she appeared confident, but the shaking of her hands gave it away. Professor Meryl flipped the final lock open, and the chest’s lid swung backwards abruptly, hitting the back with an almighty bang.

 

Nothing happened for the first few seconds.

 

And then something started crawling out of the chest. A darkness, groping and oozing, like a shadow, free of its restrictions, born of some hellish place, where blackness was an ally. It slunk across the floor, dragging its artificial body along with artificial limbs. When it came to a stop, it hesitated… Then reared up with a startling speed, building a huge, monolith wall of darkness, lifting itself higher and higher until it consumed the majority of the space in front of Dorcas.

 

And then it started to lunge forward. She clenched her eyes shut, fear invading her body, a squeal leaving her lips.

 

The dark.

 

And yet, it didn’t seem like Dorcas was scared of the dark. For, there was still plenty of light in the room; enough for the boggart’s attempt to be pitiful. And then, Hermione realised that it was a tunnel. Leading out to where? Well, that was the mystery.

 

It was fear of the unknown.

 

Dorcas shook; she looked hypnotised by the prospect of something, something not quite there yet, but still closer than she could ever imagine. Something indiscernible. Something unknown.

 

Beside Hermione, Remus shook. She bumped her shoulder with his. He bumped hers back.

 

“Come on now, Dorcas,” Professor Meryl encouraged. “Remember the incantation.”

 

Dorcas closed her eyes, stole a breath and then focused her gaze on the blackness with a ferocious determination. “Ridikulus!”

 

It was strange. The darkness didn’t really disappear. It swirled, like some kind of whirlpool, round and round, again and again, retreating back from whence it came, shrinking in size. Within mere seconds, where once was an impenetrable darkness, now floated a rather large black balloon. Dorcas frowned. Then exhaled, and whatever had been holding the balloon let go, and it zoomed around the room, clumsily bouncing off walls and heads and bodies, squealing and making the most ridiculous sound Hermione had ever heard. Laughter bubbled from the class, especially when it hit James directly in the face, pressing his glasses into his eyes. Dorcas tipped her head back and laughed loudly. The boggart had been defeated.

 

Professor Meryl, mirth tinging her voice, called, “Next! Who’s next?”

 

Sirius Black stepped forward.


	11. Chapter 11- The Boggart

** Chapter 11- The Boggart  **

 

Now, if one were to ask Sirius Black what he feared most, the answer would be utter codswallop.

He would most likely rattle off a list of things, each with its own equally terrifying backstory, which, sure gave him the heebie-jeebies, would most definitely not make the top spot. A few examples: spiders (James was constantly having to get rid of any spiders that had found their way into the same room as him- his friend kept bringing them home as well, hoping that he would be bitten magically, and transform into some mutated half-human, half-spider hybrid, ever since Remus had introduced him to Muggle comics. Stupid Remus.); monsters under his bed (James also checked for these too.); mullets (why anyone would do that to their hair was frightening enough). And also, but not limited to: small spaces, big crowds, being alone, letting someone down and asymmetrical things.

He would say that he had so many trivial fears, that they all battled each other and essentially cancelled each other out to claim that top spot.

But that wasn't true. In fact, Sirius knew exactly what his boggart would turn into. And that was why his hand were sweating, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

He was vaguely aware of the silence that had settled over the class; that hush of quiet that made everything, including the beat of his own heart, magnified. The balloon, lying pitifully on the floor, twisted and writhed, sprouting upwards with a speed that gave no chance for thinking twice. The blackness merged into colour, dark colour, and the plastic gave way for skin, and hair, and material.

And then it stopped.

In the place of the balloon, now stood Sirius Black. Not as Sirius was now, wearing elegance with a defiant sort of shabbiness to it, in his school uniform, but a Sirius as grand and regal as his potential granted him to be.

This Sirius had his hair combed back, all in line, and was wearing clothes one might find in a History Museum; a dark emerald tunic reached his mid-thigh, secured with a jewel encrusted belt. Under which, he wore smart dark trousers. Surrounding his shoulders was a long cape with a silver lining.

He was swinging a crown around his index finger, almost lazily and watching, with a predatory hunger to his gaze, the real Sirius.

The two stared at each other; one, a collected prince of a man, the other, a bundle of static nerves and electric charge, and the two were different monsters hiding under the same mask.

Eventually, the doppelganger drawled, "Look what's become of you."

Sirius didn't answer, ashen and stunned.

"You're a waste of a man, you know. Your parents didn't want you, hell- they would have shipped you off if you hadn't left. Good riddance, they said, finally free of a fucking. worthless. inconvenience." The boggart spat out the words with a more refined version of Sirius' accent. "Your brother, well, he was just glad you left him alone with ma and pa. They're lovely people, you know. You're brother found that out all by himself when you left."

The black undercurrent to that last sentence remained unsaid, but he knew what it meant anyway. Sirius' neck throbbed with veins, his eyes grew stony with tears. When it came to Sirius, seeing this much anguish on a boy who you have only ever seen laugh, made it a weakness. It was like they were all escaping into his subconscious; a place dark and twisted beyond rational belief.

"Sirius," James said quietly. Hermione looked at him. The set of his shoulders was tight, and his whole body was rigid with the anticipation of intervening. His hazel eyes were glassy, his knuckles clenched. "Sirius, come on. This isn't real!"

He moved forward, standing close enough so that Hermione couldn't hear anything he was murmuring.

"There's no reason to be scared. That isn't you! This isn't real," James urged again, an insistency to his words and a desperation to his body language.

"You're wrong," Sirius whispered. His eyes were burning.

"What do you mean?" James asked. "This is all in your head."

"I know. That's what scares me."

The boggart, it seemed, got tired of this conversation, for he leapt forward with a gracefulness only aristocrats could possess. "Enough of the lovely, heartfelt chat." Its grey eyes pierced James, who flinched, for this was a beast wearing his best friend's face, and how could anyone ever be okay with that? It focused back on Sirius, who looked broken. His face verging on crumbling. "What about James? Hm? When have you ever benefited James? When have you ever been worthy of him? He doesn't even like you, never mind love you. You're not his brother. You're just some posh boy who ran away from home. You're such a charity case." It got closer and closer, until its nose was almost touching Sirius', who refused to look away. It smiled, although the action resembled a snarl and inhaled deeply, thriving on the fear it tasted there. "Did you really think he ever cared for you at all?"

James stumbled backwards, overthrown by the weight of the words. It was a low blow, everyone knew. To Sirius, James was the thing that made the world turn, and the oxygen in the air. To Sirius, James was his lifeline.

The boggart grinned vindictively, teeth sharp and shining. Its eyes slid from Sirius, over to Remus, who was frozen in horror. It flickered for a moment, before it craned its neck back and smirked.

Its head snapped back to Sirius. "You really do pick the worst people to fall in love with," it drawled, though the words were harsh and pricked like thorns digging into his skin. "You pick the ones who you know are too good for you, too perfect. You pick the ones that have the potential to fly up to the sun, and you know that although they'll try to take you up with them, they'll drop you and you'll fall through the earth or you'll get burned because you don't belong up there. Because you're nothing, Sirius. You're not a Black. You're hardly a wizard. You're not a lover nor a friend. You're definitely not a brother. You are nothing to anybody-"

"Sirius," Remus began. The boggart's narrowed eyes cut to him, irritated at his interruption, but he paid it no heed. He was staring at Sirius, whose tight shoulders had dropped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Sirius, you know this isn't true. This is a boggart. You are experiencing your worst nightmare and you are doing so well-"

"Well?" The boggart laughed and Remus flinched at the sound of Sirius' usually warm and velvety laugh turned sour and twisted. It continued eagerly, knowing it had crawled back underneath his skin, "You know, Remus doesn't even look at you the same anymore. Never mind the way you want him to. It's going to take a lifetime for you to win his trust back after what you did..."

"You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you; that disgust, that distrust." Remus looked torn, his previous encouragement dying on his lips. The boggart noticed, and moved on. "What about the girl?" Sirius' eyes sparked. "Oh, you like her don't you? You don't know why but we like her... She's too good for you, though. You know that, right? So is Peter. He's got more spine than you could ever hope to possess. And you want his approval? Ha! Why would Peter ever look up to someone like you? Why would he ever like you?" The creature got angry, clenching his fists and swinging them, gritting his teeth as though Sirius' refusal to understand actually pained him. "You're just one _big_ , colossal _fuck-up!_ That is all you have ever been! Don't you understand?! How do you not understand that?! You are Sirius Black. You _belong_ to the darkness-"

" _Riddikulus_." His voice was feeble but strong, yet it worked. The boggart Sirius screamed on its descent; skin being replaced by felt, control by string. It had turned into a human-sized puppet that danced and sang and tripped over all the grooves in the floor. Only half the class laughed; the rest, too shaken up about the slither of a tormented soul that resided inside Sirius Black, whose boggart was himself.

James swooped in, immediately. He wrapped his arm around Sirius' shoulders and escorted him past a pale Remus, traumatised Peter and shocked Hermione, past a soft looking Lily, past the smirking Slytherins, and out of the classroom. Professor Meryl didn't even bother to stop them. The door shut with a harsh bang.

The boggart was already assuming its next form, when the students returned their attention to the front. It shifted and swam between visibility and invisibility, ducking in and out of being. It assumed a white colour, but still continued raging.

That was when Hermione noticed.

Remus was next.

He didn't seem to fully realise what was going on, and stood there, staring blankly. The boggart rounded in shape, whiter than ever.

Hermione knew what it was before it even stopped transforming. The moon.

Peter looked at his best friend, alarmed, as Remus' back finally tensed. She swallowed. There was no way Remus could avoid this, not when the class was rapt in the scene.

She remembered her third year. The memory was so random in the moment, but the vision of Professor Lupin throwing himself in front of Harry presented itself to her, replaying over and over and over again.

Hermione didn't even think. The boggart verged on the moon, and she stepped in front of Remus.

It flickered, thrown off by the sudden interference. Then, morphed quickly, quicker than before as if to make up for the lost time.

She felt empty, a blow to her stomach leaving her breathless. Tears spiked her eyes, stinging and hot.

"Harry."

He stood before her, looking just as she remembered him. Black hair was stuck up in all directions, and his glasses were round on his nose, and she noticed now that he had a slightly rounder face to James, and of course, bright green eyes. His nose was smaller and less narrow also. In fact, looking at him now, Hermione realised with a starling clarity that she had lost her best friend in James.

Harry stared at her. She started forward, reaching for him. "Harry-"

He recoiled. "How could you do this?"

She froze. "D-do what? Harry?"

"How could you do this?"

Desperately, Hermione begged, _"Do what?_ Harry, what have I done?"

"You just let it burn," he said, his voice ragged. His green eyes were wet. His scar red and throbbing.

She choked, feeling herself cry, but she couldn't stop the tears from falling. Her voice was a fractured whisper, "What?"

"The world, Hermione. You just let it burn."

"I- I don't understand..."

Harry tried to move forward, towards her, but his body shook with self-restraint, as though it pained him to get closer. "You came here to save it, and you didn't. I'm still... I still-"

He trailed off, eyes fixated on his hands, with were bubbling. The skin writhing, as though there were insects crawling beneath it. Hermione watched, in muted horror, as her best friend looked up at her, agony and regret flashing across his face, which was also bubbling. The skin was draining of colour, fading to a white, and his nose was shrinking, being swallowed by his cheeks. Red dropped into his eyes, like food colouring into water.

She stared. Her throat wanted to shriek. A few students let out gasps, a girl screamed.

Where once, the prophesised saviour of the world was, Voldemort stood there now.

 _"Silly girl,"_ he hissed. His eyes flashed. "You're just a child, and you think you can change the world." His voice was lofty, yet slick; a light, yet inexplicably dark hiss. "You think you can save him, but you can't. You're just going to let it burn... You're just going to let him _burn_."

"No," Hermione managed to get out. Her voice was strong, but tripped over her tongue.

"Oh yes. Everything's already laid out for you. It's all there for the taking," Voldemort told her.

Hermione watched him, trembling. "I'm not scared of you," she whispered.

His lip curled. "You're a smart little Mudblood, tell me, you're not really thinking I'm your biggest fear?"

She frowned, confusion seeping through her skin. Tears still fell. "Then why...?"

"Come now, Mudblood, don't tell me Draco died for nothing."

She inhaled sharply. Her eyes grew cold, and her throat clenched. Voldemort smiled.

"Ah, there it is. The defiance. How very... Gryffindor of you."

"Don't say his name," Hermione gritted out. She didn't look at him as she said. "Don't you dare say his name."

He tilted his head, slithering towards her, closer and closer. His spidery fingers wrapped around the wand and traced her pulse. She craned her neck away from him. The tip of the wand prodded into her skin.

"Who's name? Draco Malfoy's?"

_"Stop!"_

"You're going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I'm going to savour you."

And that was when Hermione realised that it wasn't Lord Voldemort standing before her, not even a boggart, but something else entirely.

_"Caligo!"_

The creature didn't even turn into anything amusing, simply melted, eyes popping, human bones disintegrating, into a puddle of dark mist on her shoes. Hermione turned numbly to register who cast the spell, and saw the professor holding her wand out. The elderly woman leapt into action, hurrying to close the lid of the chest once the mist had seeped back into the confines of its existence.

"I thought you were ready," Professor Meryl said faintly to the class, in way of apologising. Her eyes were downcast.

Peter looked at her steadily, the curl of his lip hinting his disgust, and said, "How can anyone be ready for that?"

Hermione felt unstable. Her head was light and her body was too heavy, and she collapsed before she could properly contemplate her predicament. The floor was cool and a relief on her feverish skin. Someone's touch, tender and tangible, grazed her arm, and their fingers were cold and coarse. Remus kneeled in front of her, his presence soft yet demanding, and his hand was a reassuring pressure on her arm. The other hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her to him, and she let her head rest on his shoulder, gripping his shirt. Hermione's eyes never closed. They were wide, still seeing her best friend morph into Lord Voldemort. Her lips gaped. Her cheeks were wet.

Remus's grip tightened. He pulled her even closer. "Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm-"

He couldn't even finish. His voice caught on the words, and he tugged her into him. Hermione held him like he was her only connection to the world, and, in that moment, he was.

Dimly, she was aware of Peter being told to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Dimly, she was aware of the eyes that bore into her, of the bewilderment that fuelled the other students in the class. Dimly, she could feel her heart erratically shattering her ribcage. But for all of that, Hermione could only hear the boggart's words, sharp and strangely clear:

_"You're going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I'm going to savour you."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sooooo... What did you think?
> 
> I'm not sure if Hermione's boggart was explained or obvious, but it will be explained later on. There is a reason for the weirdness. It's not just as simple as her fear of the Dark Lord, rather something much, much darker than that, that can be embodied by Voldemort to get the point across. I don't think that made sense ahah, but I have a plan!! 
> 
> Also, Sirius' boggart was originally going to be his parents! I had this all planned out! But then, I remembered that since it's seventh year, he would have already moved out of Grimmauld Place and into Potter Manor, and so his parents wouldn't really be his main concern. And then I started writing, with my idea of Sirius' character, and this is what derived from that! I suppose I see Sirius as someone who appears perfect and collected, but is really a wreck inside. His biggest fear is the darker side of him, the side that represents his true heritage and, effectively, his true heritage's loyalties. 
> 
> Just a quick note- the spell 'Caligo' is of my own creation;) In my world, it's a really complex but useful spell, used against dark entities (primarily non-beings) to control them. It literally translates to 'mist' in latin.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING! IT MEANS THE WORLD! I LOVE YOU ALL! BUT I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS EVEN MORE HEHE!


	12. Chapter 12- The Catch-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am being SO good to you this week! I mean, that's like 3 updates so far!!   
> I don't know what's come over me! Possibly more to come as well, as I am enraptured in writing this story at the moment. Anyway, this is nearly 4000 WORDS! I'M SO PROUD! So I hope you enjoy your THIRD chapter this week, you lucky buzzers;) Please remember to review!! I cannot mention enough how they make my day!

Chapter 12- The Catch-Up

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and, not for the first time since she’d arrived in the past, she was greeted with the sight of the high beamed ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

 

She groaned; the light streaming in through the many high windows was too bright for her eyes. Looking around, she realised that she wasn’t the only one admitted to the infirmary. In the bed opposite her, Sirius was laid, his dark hair starkly contrasting the white bed sheets and paleness of his face. He looked so young when he was sleeping, so innocent, and his eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones. Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen someone look as peaceful as Sirius Black when he slept.

 

She remembered what happened, of course. Remembered his boggart, and her heart clenched at the fact that what Sirius feared, above all things in the world, was himself. She also remembered the instability of his body, the tremble to his hands, faintness to his being; that was probably why he was here. It didn’t seem like he could stomach anything in a state like that.

 

She frowned. Then why was she here? Immediately, she felt the hot breath of air that had fanned across her face. Hermione closed her eyes.

 

What did it even mean? She had no idea what her boggart was supposed to be, least of all what it represented. She wasn’t scared of Voldemort… Well, she was, but everyone was scared of him. It was You-Know-Who for Christ’s sake! What she meant was, he wasn’t her biggest fear. But he’d told her that himself, told her to think, to really think, so that Draco hadn’t died in vain.

 

Hermione opened her eyes.

 

A loud snore from her side startled her, and her head whipped to see Remus. His head was resting on his arms, which were folded on her bed. His hair, golden in the midday light, tickled her elbow. His mouth was gaping open. She smiled softly, reaching out to run her fingers through his locks. He stirred.

 

The door to the Hospital Wing flew open, bouncing off the stone walls. Remus’ head shot up, just as James strode in.

 

“Where’s Peter?” Remus asked groggily, frowning when their fourth friend didn’t turn up.

 

James looked at him in surprise, clearly not expecting anyone to be awake here. His eyes took in Remus, from his messy hair and sleepy eyes, and swept onto Hermione. He froze, redirecting his attention quickly.

 

He glanced at Remus again and said, “In the class I’m currently skipping.”

 

Hermione scoffed, eyebrows knitting together in disapproval.

 

Remus looked at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. He was slightly dazed still from his slumber, but his eyes cleared once they locked on her. He offered her a small, wonky smile and she let herself smile back.

 

Leaning his head closer to her, he reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear and said in a low, tired voice, “How are you feeling?”

 

Hermione gulped. The gesture was so intimate, in a way that was completely unintentional. She whispered, “I-” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure. What happened?”

 

“You don’t remember?” Remus asked, interested, his brown eyes flicked to hers before letting them drop to his hand, which he realised was still lingering near her face. He lowered it haltingly, before letting it stay where it was; whisperingly close, but not yet touching. She could feel the heat radiate off of his fingers. “You passed out shortly after Meryl got rid of the boggart.”

 

Now, his eyes shot to her.

 

Hemione felt strange, and her cheeks flushed. She could feel the unasked question burning in the air between them, but knew that he wouldn’t ever ask it. Remus was too courteous. “I remember that,” she paused, and then added, half-apologetically, “I don’t know why it was… what it was.”

 

Perhaps he could sense her confusion, and then her anger at her confusion, but he let his hand fall gently on hers. “It’s okay.”

 

She licked her lips. “No, it’s not.”

 

“Hermione,” Remus began. “It’s not important why the boggart took that form. It just matters that you’re okay.”

 

She sighed in frustration, wanting to pull her hand away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Of course it matters. It means something. I need to figure out what it means because I don’t know at the moment, but it means something. I know that for sure.”

 

He stared at her, sucking his lips in, before he shrugged daintily. “If you say so.”

 

Hermione swallowed, looking away. She disentangled her hand from his, and he sighed.

 

Her gaze settled on James, who was stood next to Sirius’ bed, clutching something to his chest. “How long have I been asleep?”

 

Whether or not he knew the question was directed at him, he looked up, eyebrows raised. “It’s lunch soon. You’ve only been asleep a couple hours.”

 

“Two hours?” Hermione exclaimed. She let her head drop back on her pillow, and a defeated sigh left her lips. “It’s my first day and I’m already slacking!”

 

Remus huffed a laugh. James snorted. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. You don’t even have a timetable yet, so I doubt it really matters,” he said, trying to console her.

 

“Still.”

 

Silence settled over them. It was at this point that Madam Pomfrey decided to check on her patients. The woman moved with the same hurried bustle she had always moved with, but it was obvious she was younger as her actions were somewhat more delicate than they had been in Hermione’s original time. She swarmed on Sirius first, who was still sleeping serenely, and it drew Hermione’s eyes to him once more. It really disturbed her how untainted he looked in sleep.

 

Remus checked his watch.

 

“Cach,” he swore gently, wide eyes darting to her. She frowned at his choice of words, and he just blushed and said, “I’ve got an essay for Ancient Runes that has to be in after lunch. I’ve gotta go.”

 

He stood up, his chair clattering from the haste, and Madam Pomfrey frowned at him from Sirius’ bed. He didn’t seem to notice however, as he looked at Hermione.

 

Remus cupped her jaw and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, before he swooped down to pick up his bag, and left the infirmary.

 

Hermione was frozen, staring at the place he had stood. She reached up, stunned, to let her fingers graze the place his lips had just touched. Why had he done that? More importantly, why was she acting like he had just snogged her senseless? It was just a peck, a friendly peck- that was all.

 

James coughed. 

 

Her head darted up, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

 

Hermione coughed.

 

She changed the subject quickly. “What did he say?” She asked, looking expectantly at James, and trying to control the blush still staining her cheeks.

 

“Beg pardon?”

 

“What did he say? Remus. Before he left, he… Well, I don’t know. It didn’t sound English.”

 

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on his face. “His mother’s Welsh. He likes to swear in the language. I think he thinks it makes him exotic.”

 

“Exotic?” Hermione repeated, amused. “From a country that rains 365 days a year, and has a population that is 80% sheep?”

 

“Well, that’s Remus for you.”

 

Madam Pomfrey stopped fussing over Sirius, who had slept through her medical ministrations, and crossed over to see to Hermione. She looked at the woman, with veiled caution. Madam Pomfrey fluttered, checking her temperature and pulse, conjuring two glasses of two thick, gloopy potions and forcing her to drink them. Hermione had no idea what the point of it all was; she felt perfectly fine, and told the nurse as much.

 

“You were admitted to me for a reason,” she simply replied, stern and professional.

 

“Well, when can I leave? I’ve slept, and I’m no longer… troubled,” she argued. Madam Pomfrey sent her a look, which was answer enough.

 

Hermione sighed.

 

"You can leave this evening, but I’m keeping you until then,” the nurse pointed her finger at her, before leaving to her office.

 

As soon as the door clicked to a shut behind her, Hermione let out a long groan, flopping back on her bed. James laughed at her, wrinkling his nose to try push his glasses further up.

 

With decided and determined actions, Hermione swung her legs off the side of the bed. James sobered up. "What are you doing?"

 

"She might be preventing me from leaving, but I'm not bedridden."

 

She hopped lightly down, and tiptoed over to stand beside James. Only when she got this close did she realise what he was holding in his arms. It was a blanket, dark red in colour, with golden lions trailing off into swirls at the corners. It looked worn and loved, and the thread was tangled and fraying at the edges.

 

"My mum made it," he said awkwardly, in way of explanation. He must have noticed her staring. "For Sirius, when he first moved in with us, for the nightmares. I just- he never really sleeps without it, so I thought I'd bring it to him, you know?"

 

Hermione felt her heart melt, and she smiled softly. James was a dark pink at the confession. He was still holding the blanket close to his chest.

 

She reached up and covered his fingers with hers, guiding him to throw the blanket over his best friend's sleeping form. Only, they both seemed to miscalculate the distance, and the cover simply billowed back to them. James' head ducked forward and he laughed slightly. Hermione closed her eyes, grinning.

 

They looked at each other.

 

"Well, that worked," she said lightly, sarcasm lacing her words. He smiled.

 

"Let's try that again," he suggested.

 

They did, and this time was a little more successful. The blanket actually made it to Sirius' far leg! Hermione leaned over to tug it so it covered his body completely, tucking him in, folding him into the warmth.

 

She stepped back. James wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she moulded into him, letting her head fall into the nook of his arm.

 

"I wasn't in class today, but Peter told me what happened," he said. Hermione closed her eyes. "He was really angry you know. He wanted me to see if you were okay; in fact, he wanted to come and stay with you himself, but he kinda needs to catch up with Charms if he wants to do well... So I told him I'd send my regards."

 

She huffed a laugh. "You make it sound like I'm dead."

 

James chuckled, then his arm seemed to tighten. "Meryl shouldn't have done that. How could any teenager ever be ready to face their biggest fear? I mean, come on."

 

Hermione paused, conflicted. Finally, she offered weakly, "She didn't know..."

 

"It doesn't matter! What did she think was going to appear? The Easter Bunny? I'm just glad Sirius didn't see-"

 

He broke off, letting his eyes trail over Sirius' face. His cheek dropped to rest on the top of her head; it was the way Harry used to hold her.

 

"I just worry about him, you know?" James said, in a strangely strangled voice. "He can only take so much, and I'm- I'm really scared he's reached his limit."

 

Hermione didn't speak. She knew he had to get this out, and she felt touched that he shared it with her.

 

"I mean, Sirius... He's tough, but he's got so much inside of him, so much sadness and so much happiness and I think it's gonna destroy him. They're just too different to coexist. They're gonna destroy him. From the inside out..."

 

She didn't know how to reply. Her eyes were glued to the sleeping boy, and she knew the turmoil he had bubbling under his skin. Hermione hadn't known him well in her time, but Harry had told her enough; but she guessed she'd just put that down to the twelve years he'd spent in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. Now, though, she thought that maybe, just maybe, it was something so much deeper than that.

 

Hermione turned her face into him, breathing him in, and she was once again encompassed by the smell of James. She breathed him in and he was everything warm and safe.

 

The Hospital Wing doors swung open, and Hermione jumped. They stepped apart from each other.

 

His beard draped across the floor and his deep purple robes sparkled in the sunlight that pooled in from outside.

 

Dumbledore walked slowly, but regally, with an effortless grace that he seemed to apply to everything in his life. He beamed at the two of them.

 

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger! What a pleasure!" He made his way towards the centre of the infirmary. His eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes twinkled. "If I'm not mistaken, you should be in class, should you not James?"

 

James smiled easily, and it was such a different person to the one she had seen a few seconds ago, that she couldn't help but stare. "Of course, Professor," he grinned, striding to the door, before he stopped.

 

He turned around and his eyes sought Hermione's. They stared at each other, and she didn't know for how long, but it seemed like for ever. Eventually, he winked, glancing at Sirius, before leaving.

 

The doors closed behind him.

 

Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at the headmaster.

 

"I was hoping to speak to you, Miss Granger," he said. His voice trembled as it usually did, with an undertone of something more, something wise. "I'm glad to see you're well."

 

She nodded numbly, playing with her hands.

 

"Why don't we sit down? I wouldn't want Madam Pomfrey thinking I'm trying to interfere with your healing in anyway."

 

Hermione, without looking at him, crossed back over to her own bed, and climbed into it, pulling the covers up her body. She felt chilled to the bone.

 

"I supposed you heard what my boggart turned into," she said bitterly. Dumbledore looked surprised, then grave.

 

"I admit I did, and that is what I came here regarding," he said. "But Miss Granger, I wish you would give me another chance. As a fool of a man, I know that I will undoubtedly make many more mistakes, some of which will warrant you to feel nothing but contempt for me... But please, I have not made those mistakes. I am not the man you knew. I merely wear his face, and carry his bones."

 

Hermione felt a stab of guilt, fuelled by the tinge of desperation and actual upset in both Dumbledore's voice and words.

 

She sighed. "You're right."

 

The old man looked humbled by her admission and smiled softly. Then his face grew solemn, and she knew what he was going to say. "I must confess, I was deeply surprised when I heard the story from Professor Meryl this morning."

 

"Not as surprised as I was, sir, I assure you."

 

"I can imagine." He surveyed her quietly. "Miss Granger, I am required to ask, what was your boggart inspired by? What caused it to assume such a form?"

 

Hermione faltered, looking him in the eye. "Honestly, I have no idea."

 

He considered this. "Have you ever come across one before?"

 

"Yes..." She replied, confused at where this was going.

 

"You have... I see. And what did it show you then, Miss Granger?"

 

Hermione frowned, remembering, and her cheeks grew hot. "Failure... I had failed all my classes, and I was going to be kicked out of Hogwarts."

 

Dumbledore hummed in thought. “That’s very different.”

 

“Tell me about it,” she said, rubbing her temple from the headache that was creeping up on her. Then she paused, a thought entering her mind. Hermione glanced at the headmaster, feeling her throat tighten, and asked hesitantly, “How- how much did Professor Meryl tell you, sir?”

 

He froze imperceptibly. “Enough.”

 

Her lips pursed. “And what exactly is enough, sir?”

 

Perhaps sensing her slowly ebbing anger, Dumbledore sighed and said, “Professor Meryl allowed me to view the scene from her memory. That is to say, all of it.”

 

All of it.

 

Those words resonated with Hermione, and she felt her stomach turn uneasily. Despite trying to hold them back, tears flooded her eyes.

 

“He said I was going to let it burn,” she whispered.

 

Dumbledore exhaled deeply. “Miss Granger, it was simply a figment of your deepest and darkest imagination.”

 

Her eyes locked on his, and the blue there seemed dimmer than usual. She shook her head. “Even you know that’s not true. It means something. Something important. I just don’t know what yet.”

 

“You’re not afraid of Lord Voldemort, are you Miss Granger?” He asked instead, disregarding what she said. Hermione noticed this change of subject, but didn’t comment on it.

 

Instead, she replied bitterly, “Everyone’s afraid of Lord Voldemort. He’s rather famous back in my time too.”

 

“But they fear him in a way you do not. You’re fear derives from something that is so much more than fear for your life.” Hermione swallowed, not completely understanding where the headmaster was going with this. He hummed in deep consideration of something. "It seems that what you are scared of is abject. The boggart merely assumed the form it felt would best represent your deepest fear, in hope it would convey the message to you. Since you are an intelligent witch, Miss Granger, it happened to present to you a dangerously tricky puzzle," Dumbledore explained.

 

Hermione looked at him in warped disbelief, eyebrows knitted together tightly. What was he saying? That her boggart was somehow trying to tell her something? How was that even possible?

 

“Sir,” she started, before breaking off. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

 

"Hm, let’s see… An example: what would one face if one's most profound fear was fear itself?" He asked, eyes boring into her in a way that didn't demand an answer, merely a thought. Hermione remembered Harry, and the dementor, and she felt sick. "Nobody knows. Because the fear for each person holds a different meaning, and so the fear would be symbolic." Dumbledore obviously sensed her confusion. "Here, let me explain. A vampire, the type you see in Muggle literature, steps before a boggart, and it turns into the sun; the vampire is not actually scared of the sun, but what the sun represents- daylight, and the burn of the daylight on vampiric skin. You see?"

 

Hermione did see, but her mind seemed to be slow at processing it. “And so, if a werewolf were to come across the boggart, and it turned into the moon… Its fear would be down to the effect the moon has on the werewolf, not the full moon itself?”

 

Dumbledore smiled proudly, and nodded.

 

"So you're saying... That my fear is abstract? Something that can't be properly conveyed by an object. What I saw was symbolic." Dumbledore nodded again, and his wrinkled face wanted to beam, before she asked, "But what was it symbolising?"

 

He shook his head morosely. "That is the question, my dear."

 

Feeling like she had been doused in freezing cold water at the revelation, Hermione relaxed back in her bed. What could her subconscious be trying to tell her? Was it something to do with her actions in the past, or in the future? But regardless of these new fizzing questions, it always brought her back to the same one: How was this even possible?

 

As if reading her mind, Dumbledore said, “Magic is a fickle thing, Miss Granger.”

 

Hermione huffed a laugh.

 

He grew solemn suddenly and said, in a delicate voice, “There was something else I wished to speak to you about, something the boggart said.” She watched him, caution bubbling away at her insides. “About you ‘thinking you can change the world.’”

 

She inhaled slowly, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “Professor, what are you trying to say?”

 

Dumbledore sighed, caught out. He stood up, and his presence was overwhelming. “I just ask for you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. Regarding time, and how-”

 

“Dangerous things happen to those who meddle with it,” Hermione finished for him in a quiet voice. “I know, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”

 

“Good,” he replied. He stared at her, his eyes bright and piercing, before nodding and saying again, “Good.”

 

Then, he clapped his hands and announced, “Well, I’m glad you’re all right. We wouldn’t want you hospitalised for your first week at Hogwarts! Ah! Which reminds me…” Dumbledore waved his hand, and a small piece of parchment appeared out of thin air. He picked it up, and held it out to her. She took it; it was her timetable. “Now, you’ll know where to go. I took the liberty of enrolling you for the more advanced classes.” He winked. “You seem like a smart girl.”

 

And with that, he turned away and started walking out of the Hospital Wing, stopping just before he reached the double doors. Dumbledore looked at her a final time and said, in a wise yet hinting voice, "Remember, Miss Granger: it would not have chosen that form, if it did not believe you could solve the riddle!"

 

And then he left.

 

Hermione stared at the place he had disappeared from her sight, her mind precariously blank, before she finally shook her head and looked down at her timetable. It did look difficult- not that she minded, and she was pleased to see that the classes were all classes she would have picked in her original time, if she had had the chance to. Once again, Hermione was struck with that strangely nostalgic feeling, and a bouncing excitement that she would be able to live out her seventh year the way she was supposed to.

 

A groan from the other side of the infirmary caught her attention. Sirius groggily sat up, eyes bleary, hair all over the place; his hand was tangled in the crimson blanket. He noticed her looking and smiled sleepily.

 

“How long have I been out?”

 

“A few hours,” Hermione replied. “How do you feel?”

 

“Okay,” he said, yawning like a lion. “Pomfrey gave me something that pretty much knocked me out.” Then, he frowned. “Why are you here?”

 

“I’m suffering from trauma,” she said sarcastically, paraphrasing the nurse’s verdict.

 

Sirius’ face shut down. “Oh, from Defence.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

There was silence.

 

“Sirius, I-”

 

“What time are we allowed out?” He asked, changing the topic of conversation and dropping his eyes onto his hands, which were busy picking at a loose gold thread.

 

“Once Grumpy Knickers in there decides.”

 

His lips curled to the side, showing that he recognised her attempt at a joke, but could not bring himself to laugh. Hermione sighed, at a loss for what to say.

 

Luckily, it was at that moment that the aforementioned Grumpy Knickers decided to retreat from her office. Her eyes zoned in on Sirius, and she immediately went about checking his vital signs.

 

“How are you feeling, Mr Black?”

 

Hermione watched the teenage boy carefully, monitoring his face for any flicker of tension, but he simply replied with a smooth, “Much better now you’re here, Poppy,” and she was unnerved at how he could switch between emotions in mere seconds. It was scary how someone could hide themselves away, and spin a newer, shinier version of happiness as a wall, to decay behind in private.

 

And that thought invoked another question, one which had Hermione feeling deathly ill. She looked at him, her eyes tracing the curve of his throat, and the strict lines of his cheekbones, and the curve of his lips as he laughed, but the question just repeated itself over and over again, begging to be brought to attention.

 

Just how far was Sirius into his decomposition?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST LOVE MY BOYS SO MUCH!! 
> 
> 'Cach' is apparently a swear word in Welsh, but I could be wrong- I found it on this adorable Welsh Swear Words website. I found a heacanon on tumblr about this and I thought it was really cute and totally Remus, so I had to include it!! So kudos to whoever wrote that headcanon:)
> 
> Also, I hope Dumbledore's explanation made sense? It's really difficult for me to write this, because I obviously know what I mean and therefore know what I mean when I write it out, but I can never tell if other people will be able to understand because of my stupendous inability to convey important things.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment what you think's happening, what you think's gonna happen, how seriously I messed up your life on a scale of 1 to 10 (those are my favourites). I just love reading your reviews! They keep me going;)


	13. Chapter 13- The Midnight Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I cannot properly express how overwhelmed I am by all of your comments. EverytimeI get a review, I always get a smile on my face afterwards… It’s so lovely of you all! Thank you so much! The only problem with them is now I feel obliged to update regularly for you, which means more time writing and less time having a social life (not that I had one anyway).
> 
>  
> 
> So here it is! The next chapter!

Chapter Thirteen- The Midnight Secret

 

“Magic is a fickle thing, Miss Granger.”

 

That sentence was hardly the most welcoming thing for Sirius to wake up to. His mind was a blur, fuzzed and bleary, and he couldn’t comprehend anything in the moment; the world spun, his vision had black spots invading it and he had no idea why the whiteness of his surroundings was that sterile.

 

In all honesty, Sirius didn’t really focus on anything being said. He was still very much in the grasp of sleep, and he longed for it to take him once more. Consciousness was a state he could do without.

 

He heard an indignant huff. There was silence, then:

 

“There was something else I wished to speak to you about, something the boggart said.” He recognised it as Dumbledore’s voice. Why was Dumbledore here? “About you ‘thinking you can change the world.’”

 

Confusion clouded his mind, and he instantly felt alert. Who felt they could change the world? No one replied for a while. He tried to level out his breathing, tried to play the part of a sleeping boy; it wasn’t difficult- he’d done it plenty of times before. All you had to do was clear your mind, measure your breaths, monitor your face. Sleeping was such an easy escape to replicate.

 

“Professor, what are you trying to say?”

 

The air in Sirius’ throat stopped half-way down to his lungs. He recognised the voice. It was Hermione’s.

 

“I just ask for you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. Regarding time, and how-”

 

“Dangerous things happen to those who meddle with it.” Sirius couldn’t help the frown that took over his face. He knew his muscles had frozen, and that it would probably give him away if one of them were to glance over. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to relax. “I know, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”

 

Time? What did time have anything to do with… well, anything? And how could you meddle with it? It happened suddenly, a sickening feeling flowering in his stomach, growing, sprouting unease as it made its way up his body. The revelation hit him, and he felt winded by the blow, but it was inevitable; Hermione was hiding something.

 

Really, Sirius didn’t know why that surprised him. The girl was practically a walking mystery, a bundle of nerve and bone and secrets. She fell from the Gryffindor Common Room ceiling for crying out loud! And yet, they all felt something for her- he felt something for her. But he couldn’t think of it as a betrayal. It was not a betrayal. They’d only just met her, she was obviously suffering from the aftereffects of something, so it was natural for her to not want to tell them every little minor detail about her life, just yet, if ever. Sirius swallowed. He just hoped Hermione would tell them eventually. He felt they had a right to know. What that right was, however, was an entirely different question.

 

It wasn’t a betrayal. Betrayal required a bond in the first place, if it was to be broken.

 

But you have a bond, a snide voice commented slyly. You have a bond with her. You all do. And yet you don’t know why. Don’t you think that’s strange? You’ve only just met her and you’d lay down your life for her.

 

Sirius didn’t want to think about this. It was something he hadn’t allowed himself to mull over, lest it raise more awkward questions that he couldn’t have the answer to, and that would just make him miserable. And he didn’t enjoy being miserable when the situation didn’t warrant it.

 

A door shut, and it jolted him out of his thoughts long enough for him to realise that it was just him and Hermione. Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

 

He didn’t even know where he was. Judging by the clean scent and thin duvet, he was in the Hospital Wing again. But why?

 

It came hurtling back to him; the lesson, the boggart, the harsh spitting truths, the complete and utter shut-down of his body.

 

“Look what’s become of you.”

 

The hiss cut through everything else, stark and strangely clear in the static of his mind. Sirius felt again the almost non-existent beat of his heart. It was such an absurd feeling, this knowing you’re alive and feeling the thrum of your life, but sensing it as though it were fake, as though you were a clockwork toy with a metal key to keep you functioning. Sometimes, he wished it was that simple.

 

He remembered James’ desperate eyes, his voice pleading and taut.

 

“Sirius, come on. This isn’t real!”

 

And again:

 

“There’s no reason to be scared. That isn’t you! This isn’t real.”

 

Urging, always urging.

 

“You’re wrong.”

 

“What do you mean? This is all in your head.”

 

“I know. That's what scares me.”

 

And it was true. How could he possibly explain it though? How could he possibly reveal to James that sometimes, the only thing that made him want to just fall off his broom when he was three hundred feet in the air, or go back to his parents’ house, or step into the Black Lake, was a part of him? As much a part of him as James was, as the Sirius he knew and cared for was; the one who made puns all the time, and laughed audaciously, and loved with a ferocious fire that consumed his being entirely. Deep and twisted, writhed and resolutely interlocked with the arteries that pumped blood around his body to keep him alive. He needed this part of him if he wanted all of the other parts of him to work.

 

And it was sad, but it was the truth.

 

“You are Sirius Black. You belong to the darkness-”

 

He didn’t know if the boggart meant anything, if it was anything past a projection of what he had tried to lock away for so long. But Sirius felt his chest grow heavy, as he realised that, real or not real, meaningful or inconsequential, the boggart was right.

 

He belonged to the darkness. And it was coming to claim him.

 

*\o*TL*o/*

 

Hermione sighed, closing the book with a decided frustration that caused a sharp bang to echo around the empty Common Room. Everybody else had gone to bed hours ago, and she had no idea what time it was, but if she had to guess, she’d say it was well into early morning.

 

Madam Pomfrey had let her and Sirius out just after tea, and she’d made haste with sitting down and cracking on with researching boggarts, and catching up with work that she’d missed. Since she’d been released, she had claimed the sofa by the fire and the coffee table as her domain, and since the students had slowly, one-by-one, trickled off to bed, her books had surely spread to occupy more of the empty space.

 

Hermione stared into the fire. The book was heavy in her lap, but a comforting weight. Her eyes stung, and fatigue settled in every part of her mind and body.

 

A creak from behind frightened her, and she whipped around to see Remus. He smiled apologetically.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, making his way towards her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

She shook her head. “You didn’t startle me, I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up at this time.”

 

“Normally, nobody is.”

 

Hermione looked at him. He stood, seemingly unsure about something, a metre or two away from her. His pyjama bottoms were too big for him, and he had tied the thread around the waist as tight as it would go. His jumper was ragged and old, tattered and torn. She wanted to ask him what he meant by ‘normally’, but the words wouldn’t come, and she already knew the answer.

 

Wordlessly, she patted the seat next to her. He sat down.

 

“What are you doing?” Remus asked, his curiosity evading his voice but obvious in the way he eyed the piles of books.

 

“Looking for answers.” Hermione didn’t need to expand, and she felt her throat tighten, uncertain about how he would react to this.

 

“Have you found anything?”

 

Her previously dissipated exasperation returned at that question, and she threw her hands up and exclaimed, “There’s nothing!”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Every book I’ve read so far only has the basic information on boggarts- there’s absolutely nothing on abstract fears!”

 

There was silence, in which the crackling of the fire was the only thing that could be heard, aside from some distant snoring from one of the dormitories.

 

“I’ll help you, if you want,” Remus said. He avoided looking directly at her as he said it. “If it means something, or even if it doesn’t mean anything, I’ll help you.”

 

Hermione just stared at him, blinking in the compassion that was Remus Lupin. Finally, she smiled and said, “I’d like that. Thank you.”

 

He simply shrugged. “That’s what friends are for, I guess.” But he was blushing slightly.

 

They sat in content quiet, both entranced by the embers of the dying fire. She licked her lips, wondering whether or not to tell Remus about her chat with Dumbledore. It wouldn’t hurt, and the information would be useful if he really was going to help her. She’d just have to leave out a few parts.

 

“Dumbledore came to see me today,” Hermione said. Remus looked at her.

 

“What did he say?”

 

She paused, before saying, “He thinks the boggart was symbolic. He thinks it was the embodiment of my subconscious, trying to give me a message.”

 

He didn’t reply for a while, so she glanced sideways at him. His eyebrows were raised slightly. “That’s different.”

 

“Mm hm.”

 

“I’ve never heard of a boggart doing that before.”

 

“Mm hm.”

 

Again, he didn’t say anything. When Hermione looked at him this time, his eyebrows were knitted together and he was dragging the middle phalange of his index finger along his bottom lip. The skin there was broken, and from this close, it looked sore and abused.

 

“I take it the message is important,” Remus said eventually.

 

“Oh, extremely.”

 

“I see.”

 

“The fate of the world depends on it,” she said in a dry voice, and it did not escape her notice, even whilst Remus chuckled, how morbidly true the words were.

 

Not for the first time that night, or morning, or whatever, they fell into silence. They were both tired souls, too dead to sleep.

 

“Do you usually do this?” Hermione asked, her eyes tracing the movement of the flames, which twisted and danced and licked the air in a starved but passionate tango, like a lover deprived of a kiss.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Midnight escapades.”

 

“It’s a little past midnight,” he pointed out.

 

She scowled. “You know what I mean.”

 

A yawn stretched her mouth, gobbling down air, and her eyes watered.

 

“Maybe you should try get some sleep,” Remus suggested, watching her.

 

“I don’t think that’s an option.”

 

And it wasn’t. Or, at least, it didn’t feel like one. Her mind was alive with energy, with fear and the anticipation of closing her eyes and seeing the boggart reappear before her, both there and not there, both a threat and harmless. She could still feel its rancid breath, and the closeness of its being to hers.

 

Hermione's lips went dry. She licked them.

 

Remus stood up suddenly, and he turned to look at her, before offering her his hand. “Come on,” he said.

 

Surprised, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

 

“I want to show you something.”

 

“What?”

 

He just grinned.

 

“It’s a secret.”

 

This piqued her attention, and she didn’t even glance at his hands, still staring into his eyes, as she locked her fingers with his. He pulled her to her feet.

 

“You’ll like it,” he said, and his hand was hot and cold in hers and she vaguely wondered how that was possible. His skin was smooth and soft. “I think.”

 

Hermione let him lead her out of the dimly lit Common Room, and out into the darkness of the sleeping castle. Shadows pooled in their malicious parties, and for all their mystery, she found them somewhat calming, somewhat enticing. They called out to her as she passed.

 

She listened.

 

They walked for a while, down the grand staircases, inhaling the serenity that Hogwarts seemed to live on during the night. She wasn’t sure where they were heading, as they were six floors below the Room of Requirement, which was the only place Hermione could think of someone going in the early hours of the morning.

 

Eventually, Remus, still holding her hand tightly, directed her to the very end of the first floor corridor. He stopped outside of a door. They just stared at it.

 

Hermione glanced at him, before reaching out to open it.

 

She said, “It’s locked.”

 

Remus brandished his wand, wiggling it slightly and said, “Thank God for magic, right?”

 

Noiselessly, he tapped the handle, and the door clicked, swinging open on its own accord. He let go of her hand, holding out an arm, motioning for her to go first. She obliged.

 

The room was an old classroom, which clearly hadn’t been used for many years, decades even. There were no desks or chairs, but a large bureau, made of dark wood, was pushed into the corner. It was impossibly dark, as there were no windows in this small stone classroom.

 

Remus’ hand, warm on her arm, stopped her. He was so close to her, and Hermione hadn’t even noticed he was behind her. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and let herself relax into it. Every movement of his chest seemed to echo off her back, and his breath tickled the nape of her neck.

 

He lifted his wand and waved it once, and along the very top of the walls, an almost invisible thread of fairy lights appeared from thin air, winding and twisting around the perimeter, bathing the room in a soft light.

 

Hermione’s eyes followed the magic, entranced and utterly in awe. She finally let her gaze fall to the floor, which had now been illuminated, and what she saw made her gasp.

 

The room’s floor had been completely taken up by a miniature model of Hogwarts. Intricate details, contrived from various objects formed the structure. She could see that a few of the walls closer to her were made out of old notes pages, and she recognised the scrawl of handwriting as that of all four boys. It wasn’t complete, but it had clearly been started long ago, for the attention to detail was incredible, and Hermione felt humbled and overcome with emotion at the sight of it.

 

Remus edged past her, grazing her elbow with his fingers. He moved to stand on the opposite side of the model, his hands stuck deep in his pockets. He looked slightly embarrassed, as though he had bared a part of his soul to her, and was scared that she would laugh in his face. In a way, Hermione guessed that he had, and she knew that she would not dare react in such a way; delicate things needed to be cradled, not broken.

 

She was lost for words.

 

Eventually, she said, whispered, "It's Hogwarts."

 

Remus ducked his head, hiding his smile and said, "Yes."

 

"It's breathtaking."

 

"That's the effect I was hoping for."

 

Once more, Hermione ran her eyes over every feature of the model. She could almost feel the passion and love and life of Remus thrumming through the artificial walls, and it left her honestly breathless.

 

"Remus..." But she didn't know what to say.

 

He looked at his feet bashfully. "Sometimes I don't sleep. I don't know why... It's like a-a fear of the dark or the night or the sleep itself, but I don't sleep very well," he said. Hermione bit her lip. "Sometimes Sirius can't sleep too, but he likes to be alone, or he likes listening to music; it-it takes him away, you know? Sometimes we sit they her or lay together-" Remus was pouring out of his body, his soul slipping past his cracked lips and into her mouth. She inhaled him, swallowing him whole. "But it was one of those nights where no one else was stirring and I had to get out because my mind was on overdrive. I don't know how I found this place, but I did. I didn't start this," he motioned to the miniature Hogwarts, "until a few sleepless nights later. So now, whenever I feel either too alive or too dead, I come here and I add a bit to it. Just a bit- like, a wall or something, something small each time so I can track the progress... So I guess all of this is just the result of time and burden. That's what it usually comes down to; time, and burden."

 

Hermione looked at the model again, feeling a certain sense of melancholy in her bones. Each wall was a witness to the tired and longing soul of Remus Lupin; each makeshift window and pointed roof was a result of the countless hours that he had spilled into this piece; everything about it derived from the nightmares that a poor insomniac, a haunted werewolf and, above all else, a lonely little boy suffered from. She realised that he could never truly escape his nightmares though, they followed him into the waking world even when he couldn't sleep... And so, he had somehow found peace in the robotic monotony of this.

 

"Why Hogwarts?" Hermione murmured, barely trusting her voice to be any louder.

 

Remus shrugged, a small lift and fall of his shoulders and said simply, "Why anywhere else?" Then, as if this answer wasn't enough, he said, "Hogwarts was the first place that ever accepted me. It saved me once and even when its halls felt like an ongoing part of a nightmare, I figured that if it saved me once, it could do it again, and it did. The repetitive nature makes me think less. It distracts my mind from the darkness lingering there."

 

And her heart ached. Her heart ached so much. Because here were these boys, in a time that was supposed to be happy, and she had foolishly assumed they were happy too. What a fickle mistake to make; that a human is ever as happy as you believe them to be. The Marauders had each other and they had family (whether it was legally their own did not matter), and they were young and intelligent and unbelievably promised the world. In fact, it was all but laid down at their feet. And despite all of this, they were sad.

 

Despite all of the laughter and smiles and jokes they shared, and good times they cherished and things they loved, it finally dawned on Hermione that they were just boys. And they were sad, and furious and envious of the wind, which could blow here and there and fly whichever way it chose, never by something as volatile as time.

 

Because they were just human.

 

She thought that since she had come back here, her intentions of keeping them as they were now were fool-proof. But now, she had glimpsed the truth.

 

It was not Lily and James' deaths that made them bitter; it was the unfairness of life. It was the sleepless nights and the full moons, it was the bruises from a mother who should've loved you, and the harsh words from a father who should've cheered you on, it was the front row seats of watching your best friends fall and slowly decompose before you.

 

The Marauders were broken.

 

And Hermione stared at Remus. The warm lights cast his face in shadow, picking out the gold highlights in his russet hair and the silver lines of his scars, and the blackness under his eyes. She moved around the model of his unrest and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and hugging him tight to make all of his pieces fit together again.

 

Yes, she concluded, the Marauders were broken. But she was going to fix them, no matter what it took. No matter if it destroyed her in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so next chapter I've got a midnight interaction planned between Hermione and one of her boys and I don't know which one it should be with yet!! She's already had a lot with Remus, but her and James get along so well... BUT SIRIUS?! You see? So I need your help!! I’m edging towards Sirius, because I feel like they need more interaction together. But please please please comment which boy you'd prefer to see and maybe why..? I'm really interested to see your opinions!!


	14. Chapter 14- The Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reviews have kept me so invested in this story. Thank you so much for them. So many of them actually make me want to cry! You're too kind!!
> 
> Anyway, this is chapter fourteen!! It hasn't got the 'midnight interaction' yet. That's probably in the next two chapters. But I think I'm going to go with James- as they have yet to experience a one-on-one like the others have! This is mainly the introduction of Lily!! Woo!!!

Chapter Fourteen- The Home

 

They stayed there for an hour.

 

Hermione was sat on the desk in the corner, leaning into the stone wall, with her legs tucked up under her chin. She watched Remus with tired eyes.

 

He was sat, cross-legged, on the floor, fixing a part of the miniature Hogwarts that had fallen down. He looked so transfixed, deep in thought and a small frown drew his eyebrows loosely together. Hermione let her eyes rake over his pale skin, which looked even paler in the soft glow of the fairy lights above them. The golden parts of his hair seemed to shine, and his almost invisible scars could be seen only by the shadows they cast.

 

He was beautiful, she concluded, in a way that the stars were beautiful, if only for the way they shone against the darkness.

 

Seemingly sensing his eyes on her, Remus looked up, his own eyes wide and startled. He smiled at her, his wonky smile sleepy and soft. She let herself smile back.

 

It was a dangerous game, Hermione realised; this meddling with the past. She could feel herself growing ever fonder of the four boys, the Marauders. She could feel her heart slowly but surely opening up for them, enveloping them all. She knew that they had affected her more profoundly then she would ever have deemed possible. But she didn’t know why. Even now, her head ached, just thinking about it.

 

“Hermione.”

 

But it wasn’t like she asked to be thrown back in time. Hurtled, would be a more effective word. She didn’t ask for any of this! She didn’t ask to be here, to be alive and breathing when the people who deserved it more than anything, were dead. They weren’t even six feet underground; they were just a number, one more to the perpetually growing body count; they were just a collection of mangled limbs and dust and bones, shrouded on the battlefield, tangled in with the despair of loss.

 

“Hermione.”

 

She jolted out of her thoughts. “Oh.”

 

Remus frowned at her, lips quirked upwards, tilting his head to the side. He asked, “Where do you go?”

 

Hermione licked her lips, feeling shaky. “Nowhere extraordinary.”

 

“Well, I refuse to believe that the inside of your mind is anything short of extraordinary.”

 

The simplicity with which he said it had her stomach erupting in butterflies. She closed her eyes, swallowing and the air scratched her throat.

 

“Don’t,” she said lowly.

 

Remus looked shocked. “Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t act like you know me,” she opened her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. There was silence, and she added, in a voice that was almost desperate, “Please.”

 

He didn’t reply. He didn’t even speak. When Hermione chanced a glance at him, he was staring at his hands, which were folded in his lap. She felt heavy, and tears threatened to flood her eyes but she blinked them away.

 

Eventually, she dragged her attention away and said, “We should be going back.”

 

Remus just nodded.

 

They both got to their feet, and made their way out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he waved his wand and the fairy lights detangled themselves from the stonework, quickly retracting into nonexistence. The room became inundated with darkness once more and Hermione watched the model drown before the door closed.

 

Walking in silence, the early morning sun swarmed in warm streams through the high windows. It was such a different castle to the one they had walked through just over an hour previous; this side of the castle was comforting and alive, almost breathing. Hermione wished she could absorb its serenity.

 

Without a word, they reached the Common Room and Remus pushed open the sleeping portrait, holding it for her to walk through. She almost laughed bitterly at his ability to still be a perfect gentlemen, despite her rudeness. But she didn’t. She couldn’t over the sinking feeling in her gut.

 

They both stopped once they were inside, awkwardly avoiding the other’s eye, looking at everything else. Remus had shoved his hands in his pockets. Hermione inhaled deeply.

 

“I’ll just go get dressed,” he said suddenly, breaking the quietness. She nodded, and he walked over to his dormitory, before he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. He turned to look at her, something dying on his lips, before Remus closed his mouth, turned back around and disappeared through the door.

 

Hermione twisted her fingers in her hair, moving to collapse on the sofa. She felt her shoulders rise and drop, and a sob made its way up her throat.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

She lifted her head quickly, and through her blurred vision, saw a flash of red before the tears fell. A shuddering gasp escaped her mouth. The other girl rushed forward, sitting beside her, and pulling her close.

 

Hermione collapsed. She sobbed on the girl’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her.

 

“It’s okay,” Lily said, murmuring the words in her ear, clutching her tighter. “It’s okay. Get it all out. It’s okay.”

 

Hermione recognised her voice, recognised the flaming hair and soft embrace. Lily. And so, Hermione wept. She wept for Harry, with his green eyes and dark hair and bright grin. She wept for Ron, God, Ron! With his freckles and jokes and lopsided smiling eyes. She wept for Draco, the boy with no choice at all.

 

Lily was shocked. Well, that was an understatement. She had no idea why the new girl was crying, least of all why she was crying in her arms, when they’d perhaps spoken a total of five words to one another. But she didn’t mind. Hermione (yes, that was her name) had broken down, and Lily was simply glad she could be the comfort craved.

 

She wasn’t usually up this early, but this wasn’t a usual day. It was Petunia’s birthday, which explained why she couldn’t sleep or even stay in bed another minute. She remembered, years ago, when they had been two little girls, blinded by their love, and she woke up extra early, more excited than her sister. Tuney never minded. She found it sweet, and secretly felt overjoyed at the fact that her little sister liked celebrating her birthday.

 

Lily bit her lip, dropping her head into the crook of Hermione’s neck.

 

But that was the past. Before she received her Hogwarts letter, before she met Severus, before Petunia hated her.

 

Finally, Hermione sniffed, extracting herself from Lily’s arms. She smiled shakily, her eyes red and wet.

 

“Hermione,” Lily began softly, her thumb rubbing circles on her shoulder. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

 

Through her tears, the muggeborn witch, with her long red hair and bright eyes, resembled Ginny with such a vivid starkness that Hermione felt empty all over again. This wasn’t the way it should be. This wasn’t the way it should have ended.

 

She wanted to tell Lily everything. Although that was completely out of the question, she wanted to hold Lily’s hand and tell her that the world had ended, that the world was going to end in just two years. Hermione wanted to tell her that she needed to fall in love with James now, and that she was going to give birth to the most beautiful, loving boy she would ever know.

 

But instead, she said, and her voice shattered as it left her lips, “I just want to go home…”

 

Lily’s heart broke, then. Without saying anything, she encircled her arms around Hermione. One arm wrapped across her shoulders, clutching her close and securely; the other held the back of her head. She remembered her wonderings of the girl who fell from the ceiling; there were so many questions that surrounded her! But all of that was wiped from Lily’s mind and it was replaced by the pity that choked her, for a girl who was lost, perhaps even from herself.

 

oOoOo 

 

 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Remus leaned against it. He exhaled deeply, eyes lifted to the ceiling.

 

He had no idea what he had done. In all honesty, he had no idea why he cared at all. It wasn’t as though he liked Hermione, not like that. He thought she was pretty, yes, but that didn’t mean he liked her. She just had nice eyes, and nice hair. And he supposed she smelt nice too.

 

Oh Merlin, what was happening to him? He rubbed a hand over his face.

 

“Remy?” Sirius’ voice called grudgingly from the darkness of the room.

 

Remus swallowed. “Hey Sirius.”

 

There was silence. Despite the sun rising outside, the curtains had been charmed years ago to block out the light. Only James was a morning person. Then, he said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

 

Remus licked his lips, messing up his hair. “Something like that.”

 

There was a sigh, and the sound of someone throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. He let his head fall back against the door again.

 

Sirius knew everything about him. Although they clashed, argued more often than not, there was perhaps no one else who understood Remus Lupin as well as Sirius Black did.

 

“Shit. 6am? We’ve still got another hour!”

 

And yet, despite the animosity to his words, his voice was gentle. Through the darkness, Remus could make out his friend sitting on the edge of his bed. Sirius looked tired, and sad.

 

“C’mere.”

 

His voice was quiet, and Remus stared at him, unmoving, before he dejectedly made his way to sit beside him.

 

The two sat in content silence, just lost souls drowning in the sea of insomnia.

 

Sirius reached out, taking Remus’ hand and threaded his fingers through his hair. Remus made an exasperated sound, pulling away. “Sirius-”

 

He sighed, grabbing his wrist to keep it in place. “It calms you just as much as it calms me.”

 

“I’m not petting you.” Contradicting this, Remus allowed Sirius to place his hand back in his hair, and he slowly started running his fingers through it.

 

“Why were you awake?” Remus mumbled, as Sirius curled up, resting his head in his lap.

 

“Nightmare.”

 

He felt his throat block up.

 

“Hermione didn’t come back last night,” Sirius went on, his voice barely above a murmur. His eyes were closed, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones.

 

“She-” Remus swallowed. “She was with me.”

 

Sirius frowned.

 

“We went on a walk.”

 

He didn’t speak.

 

“We-”

 

“She’s hiding something from us,” he finally said, although he didn’t seem overly concerned. “I don’t know what. I was half-asleep when I heard them talking.”

 

Remus froze. His hand halting in his ministrations. Sirius whined slightly, nuzzling his head.

 

“Them?”

 

Almost asleep, he mumbled, “Dumbledore. They were… talking about time.”

 

Time? Now, he definitely felt sick.

 

“What do you mean?” Remus whispered.

 

Sirius’ tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “He was warning her. Dumbledore.” He didn’t say anything else on the matter, but said again, “She’s hiding something.”

 

Remus grappled for rational explanations. “She was in a war. Of course she’s hiding something.”

 

He shook his head, humming. “Something… big.”

 

His heart honestly stopped beating, and Remus cleared his throat, focusing on the path of his hands and said, “What was your nightmare about?”

 

Sirius’ Adam apple bobbed against Remus’ knee. “My mum found me.”

 

He didn’t even need to explain. That sentence was enough. Those four words were enough.

 

He felt Sirius’ breathing level out, heard his deep, reverberating inhalations. Remus threaded his fingers through his hair carefully and murmured, “You’re safe here. Get some sleep.”

 

And even though he thought his friend had already been taken by the clutches of a deep, long-awaited slumber, Sirius heard and felt again that feeling of complete and total belonging that he had found lately, most frequently, in Remus’ presence.

 

oOoOo

 

 

James woke himself up, with a loud snore that came from his own mouth. He blinked, dazed, throwing his arm off of his head and was quick to jump into action.

 

He got out of bed, collecting a fresh set of uniform from his drawers. About to get dressed, he paused.

 

A soft smile curled his lips, and James felt a sudden surge of affection. Draped across the bottom of Sirius’ bed was Remus, laid back, head almost dangling off the other side. His mouth was open, and black bags framed his sleep-deprived eyes. One hand was across his chest, the other tanged in Sirius’ hair. Sirius was curled in a ball, cuddling Remus’ leg.

 

It was weird to James. Before Hogwarts, he’d never experienced this; never even known that life could be harsh as well as generous. And then he’d met eleven year old Sirius Black, with bruises in places you wouldn’t ever see, and nightmares that had him screaming in the middle of the night. And Remus Lupin, who was quiet and mumbling, and couldn’t bear to open himself up in fear of rejection. And Peter Pettigrew, with a stutter and shake and a crippling social anxiety that had him heaving at the thought of people.

 

Glancing at his third friend, he saw Peter tucked up, arms wrapped around himself, looking, in sleep, like a child.

 

James shook these feelings from his head, instead getting changed swiftly and making his way into the bathroom to wash his face.

 

When he came back out, Peter was awake, drowsily trying to tie his tie, but his fingers kept slipping and he couldn’t seem to get it right. James sighed, moving over to stand in front of him. He pushed his fumbling fingers out of the way, and proceeded to do it for him.

 

James stepped back, messing his hair up before going to pick up his bag.

 

Peter looked over at him, curiosity pulling his eyebrows into a frown.

 

James stared back, slightly perplexed. He whipped around to see if there was anyone or anything behind him before, realising that Peter was in fact looking at him, said dubiously, “What?”

 

The mousy boy shook his head slightly, clearing it. “Nothing.”

 

James raised an eyebrow.

 

Peter gave in, and continued, “It’s just- Okay, you know after you left with Sirius in Defence?”

 

James’ jaw clenched and he gave one curt nod.

 

“Okay, well you missed Hermione’s boggart. It was creepy, man! You should’ve seen it! You-Know-Who! But anyway, before that… it was this boy and he- he looked like you.”

 

Frowning, James stopped. He looked at Peter. “Beg pardon?”

 

Pete sighed, running a hand over his cheek, dragging the skin down. It seemed like he was always perpetually despaired when someone actually listened to him. “It’s stupid, I know. But- I mean, same hair, same face, just different eyes. It was weird.”

 

And, as if what he had said was nothing, he leaned down to pick up his bag and left the dormitory, leaving a bewildered James behind.

 

He glanced at the two still sleeping forms on the bed, and deliberated whether or not he should wake them. On one hand, they were obviously shattered from a sleepless night, but it was school…

 

But he could easily cover for them. They’d done it before.

 

He followed Peter out of the dorm.

 

The first thing he saw was Lily’s red hair. She was sat on the sofa next to Hermione, chatting away and James cocked his head, as their conversation reached his ears.

 

“-I love them! They’re literal geniuses!”

 

“Oh! God! You’ve no idea how nice it is to speak to someone about this!” Lily exclaimed. “There aren’t many Muggleborns here that I can talk to about music, but I miss The Beatles so much!”

 

James, baffled, said, “What?”

 

Both their heads shot in his direction. Hermione’s eyes were soft and she smiled wearily, reminding him of Remus after the nights he couldn’t sleep. Lily’s eyes were bright and he had never seen her happier to see him.

 

“The Beatles,” she repeated, beaming at him. His heart jumped, thumping in his throat.

 

He blinked. “Are you meaning to tell me that Muggles worship beetles? Beetles? Like, black scuttery beetles?”

 

The two girls exchanged a look, before bursting into laughter. Their mirth echoed around the tower, and James felt both simultaneously pleased and offended. Peter bounded over to them, with a coffee-skinned girl in his wake. She had black hair, and almost black eyes and a round face.

 

“Mary!” Lily cried, dragging her friend to sit beside her. “This is Hermione!”

 

Mary’s eyes widened and she smiled toothily and said, “Mary MacDonald! It’s so nice to meet you.” Then, she turned to Lily and said, “Where’s Marlene?”

 

“Probably dead to the world.”

 

Her eyes bugged out of her head at this. “It’s 7!”

 

Lily, mimicking her horrified voice, said, “It’s Marlene!”

 

Hermione smiled, turning to look at the two boys. James was pleasantly engaged in the conversation, although she doubted he really cared. He was a surprising gentlemen, forever polite and civil in front of Lily. Peter was in a similar state, though he was much less adapt at hiding it. His cheeks were a bright pink and his eyes followed Mary’s every movement with a sort of avid fascination.

 

She yawned quietly, and three sets of eyes shot to her. Apologetically, and quite overwhelmed by this concern, Hermione said, “I didn’t sleep last night.”

 

Lily smiled gently at her, rubbing her hand. Peter looked worried beyond belief. James licked his lips, eyes trying to bore into her, silently asking if she was okay, if she needed anything, if she needed him.

 

“Why don’t we go to breakfast?” Lily announced, clapping her hands and jumping to her feet.

 

Mary got up too, stretching. Her large eyes settled on Peter. “Are you coming?”

 

Suddenly flushed, he said, “I-I’m not really hungry.” But the growl of his stomach gave him away and he cringed, his face going even redder.

 

“Really, Pettigrew?” She asked, eyebrow raised, but she was grinning.

 

With James, Mary and Peter leading the way, the five of them left the Common Room. Lily slowed her pace to walk beside Hermione.

 

She let her fingertips ghost her arm, and when the other girl looked at her, Lily smiled gently. She said, “I know it’s not the same. I know it’s not even remotely the same, but if you want, you can join our family. We can make this your home. And it’s not much, but-”

 

She seemed to realise she was rambling, for she cut off suddenly.

 

And Hermione had to bite her lip to contain her sob, because in Lily’s emerald eyes, earnest and kind, she saw Harry.

 

Softly, Hermione said, “I’d like that.”

 

And Lily smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I LOVE LILY EVANS WITH ALL MY HEART!
> 
> Also, I don’t care whether you ship Wolfstar or not. I just need this relationship between Remus and Sirius in my fic. I’ve always felt that sure, James and Sirius were brothers, but Remus and Sirius are effectively a pack. And they both know darkness, they both have struggles and demons and I feel like they must have formed such a close and intimate friendship from that. Just my opinion, so I included it. They are extremely close, not romantically, because as you’ve probably guessed, one of them is going to end up with Hermione (yes, one of them. Some people have suggested both of them, but I don’t know whether I can execute that sort of relationship and do it justice, so I don’t think I can take the risk).
> 
> So here it is! Kind of a filler chapter, kind of necessary. Hope you liked it!
> 
> Please, please, please review!! I check my email over 100 times every day just because your reviews excite me that much!! :D The longer the better;) ahaha! Thank youuu, have a lovely day!


	15. Chapter 15- The Courtyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best chapter, I'm afraid, but I guess I'm starting to realise that I can't have every chapter as jam-packed and whatnot, so this will have to do:) 
> 
> I hope the interaction was okay here! I'm really struggling on whether or not to have parts between Hermione and Remus or Hermione and Sirius etc. because I want it to be balanced but I'm really not sure! I just go with the flow.
> 
> Sooo yes:) First brief look at Marlene here. She and Dorcas are going to be very significant, especially together, in this fic. As are various other members of the Order;) but not just yet. I still have to decide on where this is going, i.e with Voldemort and the War and the whole 'saving the world' thing yadayadaya
> 
> As I've said, I'm really open to requests! I take on board as much as I can. Whether it's the pairing you want to see happen, or a scene or interpretation or maybe even a prompt/headcanon you think would work well. I want you guys to enjoy reading it as much, if not more, than what I enjoy writing it! So please please please suggest things for me:)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this! Have a lovely day (or night, as it is 22:20 here:O)

** Chapter Fifteen- The Courtyard **

****

 

As soon as Remus stepped into the Great Hall, collar stuck up, hair messy, nimble fingers finishing his tie, his panic melted.

Ten minutes previously had seen him jolting into consciousness, aware only of the heavy weight on his legs when he tried to stand up, and Sirius had toppled to the floor. 

His tiredness had been ripped from him once he'd seen the time. He'd overslept.

After that, it was all a blur of preparing themselves for the day ahead in mere minutes. He'd all but ran to breakfast.

Now, Remus hastily made his way over to the group at the end of the Gryffindor table, hesitating when he saw who the other two of his friends were sat with.

Lily Evans was, by no means, an ordinary girl. In fact, Remus believed she was one of the loveliest people he had ever had the pleasure to meet. She was constantly pleasant and polite and held a certain degree of intellect to everything she said and did. Although she wasn’t the smartest in the year, she was undeniably bright, and Remus had developed a civil friendship with her other the years. Her honesty was a refreshing source of relief to his life.

She was laughing at something James had said, and Remus noticed his friend’s dark blush. Next to her was Mary MacDonald, grinning away, and Peter besides her. Her other side saw Marlene Mckinnon, playing with her fork and casually flipping cereal at some random third years. Her thick blonde hair hadn’t been brushed, and yet she had somehow managed to perfect her eyeliner and dark lips. On the other side of the table, sat Hermione.

Remus swallowed.

He walked over, sliding into the bench so that James was positioned between them. He didn’t want to talk to her just yet.

Sirius bounded over a few seconds after him, tussling Remus’ hair up. He seemed to hesitate, glancing at Hermione, before squeezing his way into the gap between him and James, plopping down and immediately helping himself to food.

James beamed at him. “Hey, Padfoot!”

Remus leaned backwards to punch him in the arm.

“What was that for?” He asked indignantly, voice high, rubbing his injury.

“For not waking us up.”

James paused, the excuse dying on his lips. He glanced at Lily, who was stifling her laughter at Marlene. Mary was watching him suspiciously. Eventually, he just shrugged. It wasn’t like he had to tell them that he knew they didn’t sleep, that he knew they never slept, and he felt like they deserved the extra few hours, so in the end, he shrugged, because it wasn’t a big deal. With James, it never was. He bled compassion like other people bled red blood, and he never thought anything of it.

They didn’t really join in with the conversation that Marlene, Lily, Mary and Peter dictated, steering the topic from the Astronomy homework, to Professor Meryl to the Christmas Ball.

Hermione’s interest piqued at this.

“Christmas Ball?” She asked, frowning.

Marlene grinned at her, leaning over so her face was close to hers. Her breath smelt like the type of drinks that made your throat burn. “It’s a festive party with lots of alcohol disguised as Pumpkin Juice and lot of nerds disguised as hotties.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I reject that, Mckinnon.”

She blinked at him and he elaborated, “I’m always hot.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing and said, “You do know, Sirius, that the meaning of life does not, in anyway, revolve around your hotness.”

He looked at her and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He smiled charmingly and said, “I’m sure you’re right, Kitten, and I’m searching for that other meaning of life, I am. I just have yet to find it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face. She ducked her head, hair shielding her laughter, and looked away. Sirius’ lips curled. Marlene raised an eyebrow.

“We should probably get going now,” Lily suggested, rising from her seat. James quickly stood up as well, hitting a still soft-looking Sirius in the face, sending him flying off of the bench and onto the floor.

Peter broke into wild laughter. Remus sighed. Marlene doubled over, clutching her stomach. The amusement didn’t just start and end with the group and other students who had witnessed the scene guffawed and stared. Some had the audacity to tip their heads back, letting their mirth pour from their lips.

His hand appeared first, clutching the table. Then his head popped up, his face wearing a disgruntled but pleasantly dazed expression. Sirius’ eyes narrowed on James.

The latter’s mouth twisted and he sucked in a long breath, before smiling brightly.

Hermione, her lips tilted at the edges, had stood up and she offered her hand to Sirius. He looked up at her, and there was no evidence of his suspicion, for he locked his fingers in hers, allowing her to help him up. When he got to his feet, although he let go of her hand, he remained close to her, so that their shoulders and chests were touching.

Brushing himself off, Sirius raised his eyes. He was so close to her, he hadn’t even realised. Hermione didn’t seem to mind though. Her lips were parted and she stared into him.

Sirius swallowed. “Thanks Kitten.”

Remus cleared his throat loudly. “We should get to class.”

Marlene led the way, skipping ahead of them, looping her arm through Lily’s. The redheaded girl laughed, beaming and let her friend drag her along.

Mary trailed behind them, rolling her eyes. The others followed.

Hermione’s breath left her when she saw Remus. He looked windswept, smudged slightly, but all his edges were crisp. She quickened her pace to walk beside him.

“Remus,” Hermione began. “I’m-”

“You were right,” he said. He didn’t even look at her. “We don’t know each other. It was impolite of me to assume anything other than that.”

“No, I…”

“It’s okay,” Remus said, smiling. But the smile was small, and she noticed.

Her chest felt heavy. She wanted to reach for him, to explain why this was so difficult, but he didn’t deserve that. He had his own weight to deal with, and piling hers on him to excuse her withdrawal from him was something she couldn’t do.

“Remus.” Hermione’s voice was almost a plea, and he looked at her, surprised. She could see, in the corner of her eye, his mouth moving, but his words were lost on her ears, absorbed in a bubble of numb silence. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All Hermione could do was stop and stand and stare.

They’d just stepped out of the building and into the courtyard. The stone pillars framed either side of them, and the fountain in the middle was intact, with decorative moss and ivy flourishing as additional adornments. But she just stopped. The cool autumn air whipped her cheeks, but she felt immune to the cold. Her entire body was already cold.

_It was sudden; the view in front of her, white and chilly, morphed into one of fire and darkness. The stone was a dark grey, swathed in shadows that cackled and clawed and veiled the villains that lurked. An acromantula body was to her right, legs crippled, begging the sky for release. Hermione could faintly hear the yells and screams of the ongoing battle, somewhere in the distance, but it was all behind her._

_She felt something hot and runny on her foot, and when she looked down, her head spun. She was stood in a puddle of blood. It didn’t seem to derive from anywhere in particular; it was just there, seeping, as if from her. But as her hands flitted to her torso, numbly, she registered that she wasn’t so much bleeding, as bloodied._

_Hermione heard her name shouted, desperation and despair overtaking her from the sheer brokenness of the voice. She lifted her head._

_And he was stood there, his hair dirtied so that only strands of his natural flames were visible. But his eyes were still that bright blue, staring into her. His freckles were indiscernible from the mud that smeared his skin._

_It hit her abruptly, like someone had stunned her with a spell, but she was somehow still standing, when she should be falling… falling. Her heart stopped beating; in the simplest sense of the phrase. She ceased to live in this moment. This was the moment her life ended, right here._

_This was where Ron had died._

_Hermione wanted to move. She needed to do something, to run forward. Her mouth frantically tried to scream his name._

_His face seemed to change. His lips stretched wide, wonky and grinning. They mouthed her name. Ron’s eyes lit up, wide and relieved at the sight of her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there, unscathed, alive for him._

_And maybe that was why he didn’t notice the hulking figure of blackness emerging from the shadows. Maybe that was why she didn’t see it either._

_But when Fenrir Greyback twisted his claws through the back of Ron Weasley, those same eyes that had creased every time she made him laugh, and narrowed when they argued; those same eyes that closed when she kissed him and softened every time they landed on her, those same eyes widened one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within._

_Hermione screamed._

“Hermione!”

She blinked. Her eyes were wet. Her mouth was open. She was gasping, breathless.

Sirius stood in front of her, his hands cupping her face. His touch was the only thing that kept her grounded. She focused on his face; the stubble clinging to his jaw, the length of his eyelashes, the darkness of his eyes. He was dark, so dark, and Hermione could see every shade of light behind him.

“Hermione,” he said again. Her name on his tongue sounded like she imagined velvet would sound. Her hand reached up to squeeze his fingers on her face. She closed her eyes. The pad of his thumb gently wiped away another tear; the gentleness of a self-destroyer. “Hermione, let me take you to Madam Pomfrey-”

“No.” Although her voice was weak, the word was final.

Peter’s timid opinion cut through the silence and said, “Hermione, Sirius is right. You need to go to the Hospital Wing.”

Hermione shook her head adamantly. The action made her dizzy. “I’ve already missed school because of that blasted place. I don’t want to go back there.”

“Then go back to the Common Room,” James suggested. His hazel eyes were trained on her. His mouth was a tight line.

Shaking her head again, she pulled Sirius’ hands off of her face, looking away from him. Her eyes snagged on Remus.

Remus was staring at her, stunned and ashen. Guilt was clear on his face; he was blaming himself, but Hermione couldn’t understand why.

“Come on,” she murmured. “We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

No one else seemed to argue with her. Without looking back, Hermione started walking. She didn’t once glance at the courtyard, afraid she’d see the ghost of a body of a boy with an entire universe of explosions and passion inside him, and it wasn’t until she was encompassed by brickwork again, that she realised she had been holding her breath.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

James slowed down, walking besides her. He got his cloak, which had previously been carelessly tossed over one shoulder, and wrapped it around her body. His hands were light and precarious, as if she was going to break. Hermione despised this fragility, but was grateful for his care and the extra warmth he supplied her with. She smiled bleakly.

He just sucked in his lips, letting his hands linger on her arms and shoulders, flitting and fretting as though she might crumble if he let go, or even held her too tightly.

They made it to Transfiguration (a class they were all thankfully in together) just as the first period started.

Professor McGonagall, despite first impressions that drew attention to her strict grey bun, and stern face, was a rather lenient woman, with a formidable presence yet wicked sense of humour. Her sense of compassion was, too, a thing to be marvelled, and it seemed she had some impressive way of reading people, for as soon as she saw Hermione, she faltered.

The girl had made a particularly explosive entrance and there were many stories speculating her arrival and, indeed, herself. But one should be cautious when listening to rumours, for one can never be sure of their truth. The information that was widely known to be true was that her name was Hermione Granger, she had been sorted into Gryffindor and she fell from the ceiling onto a certain Sirius Black.

Luckily, McGonagall was a trusted teacher and long-time colleague of Albus Dumbledore, and she had been entrusted with the truth surrounding this mysterious new student.

And so, when Hermione entered the classroom, with eyes that were red-rimmed and a look that indicated she was unendingly tired of everything, the Transfiguration professor made it her duty to take this tortured girl under her wing. It wouldn’t be the first case; call it a pastime of hers.

Hermione sat beside Lily, towards the front of the room. The girls were quick to engage her in some thought-provoking conversation that poked the academically active side of her brain. She knew it was mainly for her benefit; their way of distracting her from what had just happened, and she was grateful.

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

Remus stared at the back of her head, worry gnawing at his insides. Sitting next to Peter, who was trying to fix his textbook (which he had somehow managed to rip in the time they had sat down), he noticed Sirius and James deep in conversation.

He read their lips first, and recognised the same words Sirius had been telling him early that morning. She’s hiding something.

So he was confiding about what he overheard in the Hospital Wing.

The conversation seemed to change swiftly after that, as James countered whatever his friend had said.

Remus raised an eyebrow, pricking his ears. Their words became audible within seconds.

“But then what the fuck just happened?”

That was Sirius. His voice was low but concerned.

“I don’t know,” James replied. He was biting his finger compulsively. “That’s the second time it’s happened.” 

“It’s like she sees flashes of something. Maybe she’s a Seer? Maybe that’s what she’s hiding?”

Remus scoffed, and the two boys shot to look at him. James threw his arms up in the air.

He exclaimed, “I swear! Is there nowhere our conversations won’t be picked up on by a werewolf and his super-sixth-sense hearing!”

Remus quirked his lips. Sirius leaned in front of James, across the desk, to say, “Well? What do you think, brainbox?”

He considered it, ignoring the… he wasn’t sure what it was. Insult? Somehow, he wasn’t entirely certain it was a compliment.

James was right. That had happened before; Hermione just being snatched from the present, as though taken by something. But what? She always returned looking shaken and despaired, like something had forced her to watch a scene that obliterated her completely. The answer came to him, and he wanted to dismiss it, for the reality was just too sad to bear.

It was one he was far too familiar with. Something that had haunted him; he prayed, begged whoever was listening, that Hermione wasn’t suffering from what he thought it was.

James’ eyes lit up. He wiggled a finger, and said, “I know that look.” Then turned to Sirius and repeated, “I know that look! It’s his ‘I’ve-got-it-you-dumb-sons-of-guns’ look.”

Remus cocked his head. “I do not have a- that look.”

Sirius bared his teeth. “Yeah, you do.”

“Yeah, you do,” Peter added, finally choosing to make himself heard in this conversation. His head was at Remus’ shoulder, nodding seriously.

James frowned. “Okay, this is a tangent. What were you thinking, Remus?”

He rubbed the knuckle of his index finger along his lip, considering how to word it. Eventually, he sighed and looked at them all.

“I think she’s got PTSD.”

As soon as he said it, he knew it to be true.

Peter’s normally neutral expression turned incredulous. James’ face scrunched up. The shadows on Sirius seemed to get darker.

“What?”

“Posttraumatic Stress Disorder,” Remus explained. “It’s- It’s like the psychological aftermath of experiencing or witnessing something terrifying something that shouldn’t be experienced or witnessed… It’s a mental illness.”

“You think Hermione’s got a mental illness?” Peter asked dubiously. “Our Hermione?”

All four pairs of eyes rested on her. They could only see one side of her face, and although she was laughing (albeit not as rapaciously as the others), with this thought planted in their minds, they could clearly distinguish the tension in her veins, the constant unhappiness in every muscle.

James licked his lips and he asked, almost childlike, “What does it mean?”

Remus thought about this.

It was a few minutes later, that he replied, in a solemn voice, feeling nothing but sadness for the girl in front of him, “It means that whatever she witnessed, or experienced, whatever war she was in, fucked her up so bad that even though she’s safe, she can’t escape what happened to her. She can’t outrun it; it just keeps chasing her.”

Flashes of a monster leaping from the darkness. Of the agony rippling through his arm. Of the moonlight that shone down on him, watching with rapt yet melancholic eyes.

He added, “It means that when she wakes up… The nightmare doesn’t end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in case it wasn't obvious... Remus (well, my Remus) suffers from PTSD. Or at least, he used to. I've done my research on this and whilst it is significant to Hermione's character and the story, it won't be a huge factor. Apparently, the severity varies from person to person. 
> 
> Howeveerrr, this chapter hints that we will be seeing a great bond between good ol' Prof. McGonagall and Hermione! They would make such a great team!
> 
> If any of you have ever read The Raven Boys (which I HIGHLY recommend btw), I have based Peter's character on Noah Czerny's. There will be some obvious similarities if you can spot them, as they just seem to reflect one another really well (or my Pete does anyway as he is very different from canon).
> 
> RON! I FINALLY MENTIONED HIM AND IT BROKE MY HEART. GOD, RON. I love him so much. This really hurt. But it was important. This is the catalyst for Hermione's newfound need for answers, which we will see next chapter!!
> 
> Remember- leave me a little message about any headcanons, pairings, scenes, prompts, quotes you want me to include! I'm writing this for YOU! So I want you to be as happy (and sometimes as sad, as I like making you all cry) as possible!
> 
> Thank you very much for all your reviews and support so far. You honestly inspire me.


	16. Chapter 16- The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urghhh, it's SO LATE! I'm literally dying of tiredness, but I NEEDED to update because I only get reviews when I update:) and I love reading new reviews before I go to school. They're such a lovely thing to wake up to!
> 
> Anyway, few answers in this chapter! I am SO SO SO SO sorry if there are any problems or errors but I wanted to put it up as soon as I finished and I'll be checking it tomorrow and re-uploading it, if so. Thank you very much! Hope you enjoy it!!

Chapter 16- The Revelation

 

 

Sirius sat in the library. It was dark, and the only light came from the end of his wand and the multiple lamps distributed on the shelves and tables. Even though there were no curtains, the October sky outside was dark, and his bleary eyes knew that he’d have to get back soon, that he’d have to give up and just go to bed.

 

The book in front of him was unbelievably thick, and the sheer size of it made him want to groan and give up. Sure, he enjoyed reading, but his lack of sleep was quickly gaining on him. His eyes attempted to trace the words once more, but they just smudged into nothing.

 

Peter snored to his right, head resting on the book he’d barely read a page of. Although he had offered to accompany Sirius to the library to read up on this PTSD, he’d pretty much instantly fallen asleep. It was a gift Sirius had always marvelled at; Pete’s ability to just fall asleep everywhere and anywhere.

 

He sighed raggedly, running a hand through his hair, distressing it to reflect how he felt inside. The librarian, doing her hourly rounds, poked her head around the shelf. Her eyes widened behind her glasses at the sight of Sirius, and she smiled warmly at him.

 

“Good evening, Sirius. I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

 

He’d insisted that the teachers call him by his first name. He refused to be in anyway associated to the noble house of Black.

 

Letting his lips curl wearily, he replied, “Hello Irma.”

 

The woman’s hair was a jet black, and her face was aristocratic and pointed. She was an equally elegant and terrifying witch, who also happened to have a soft spot for Sirius.

 

“You look positively dreadful,” she commented, replacing some books she had in her hands to their correct places.

 

He chuckled, though everything he said and did was half-hearted. “Thank you.”

 

Madam Pince shot him a good-natured glare and clucked, “Oh, you know what I mean!” Then, in a softer voice, added, “Maybe you should get to bed, get a couple extra hours sleep. And take him whilst you’re at it!”

 

She nodded her head, and arched one disapproving eyebrow, at Peter’s slouched form, as a loud snore erupted from his mouth.

 

Sirius looked tiredly at her. “I wish I could, Irma. But I can’t.”

 

“Well, why ever not?”

 

Because whenever I close my eyes, I see my Mother beating my brother, who now hates me. I see my cousin lurking in the darkness. I see my Uncle’s dead body. Because I need to understand what this bloody PTSD, or whatever the hell it is, is. I need to know if I can save her. If I can save Remus.

 

Closing his eyes briefly, he just shrugged.

 

Madam Pince smiled knowingly. “Who’s the lucky lady, then?”

 

Sirius raised his eyebrows, temporarily alert. “Pardon?”

 

“There are only two reasons a boy your age with your looks and charm stays up at night; either he’s haunted by his demons, or he’s haunted by a girl,” she said, lips pursed innocently.

 

He allowed himself to smile and said, “There’s no girl, I can assure you.”

 

“She must be something if you’re stealing into the time you’d otherwise be spending sleeping,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.

 

Sirius didn’t reply. He thought about it. He guessed she was something. It wasn’t like she was ordinary- in fact, he almost laughed. Hermione Granger, ordinary? No, she was something.

 

“Ah, I know that look,” Madam Pince said, her tight lips smiling.

 

And although he rarely did it, Sirius blushed. He tried to laugh it off, but he still couldn’t shake the awkwardness and heaviness that had invaded him at her words. Why was he acting like this?

 

Kicking Peter hard under the table, his friend shot up abruptly, eyes wide and searching. His face scrunched up in pain, and he looked around hastily, but dazed, to try and make sense of what had happened. Sirius took advantage of this.

 

He got to his feet, pushing his chair under the table and placing the book under one arm. “Well, Irma, I must get going. Lots of homework to do, you see.”

 

Madam Pince raised her eyebrows. “Homework. Of course.”

 

Flashing a dazzling smile at her, he tugged a still half-asleep Peter out of the library, only just hearing the librarian call after him, “Have fun with that homework, Sirius! And tell her hi from me!”

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

James stared at her. It was hard not to.

 

She was lied across Sirius’ bed, the thin bedsheet covering her waist. Her hair, tangled and curled, fanned across the pillow.

 

He was sat on the next bed over, elbows on his knees, eyes glued to her arm. It was bent, her fingers curled near her head, forearm bared. The engraved scars (what else could he call them?) were ugly against her skin.

 

Of course, James remembered her story. She’d told them after knowing them for not even a day. The reason for the scar, that was jagged and raw, boiled down to a despicable act of torture. Just staring at the red marks made his stomach clench uneasily.

 

She’s hiding something.

 

Sirius had told him in Transfiguration. He’d told him everything he could remember from the conversation he’d overheard. How magic was a fickle thing, how time was not to be meddled with, how it was dangerous.

 

But she was suffering- Remus had said as much! Of course she was hiding something.

 

The door to the dormitory opened then, and Sirius walked into the room. He looked tired and numb and James stood up immediately. They stared at one another.

 

Sirius dropped his book and schoolbag on the floor on a pile of clothes. James studied his appearance. His best friend had heavy bags under his eyes, dark and unyielding. He looked tired beyond belief, but where Remus, when he was deprived of sleep, appeared smudged, like he was fading away, Sirius looked clearer than ever, more there, to James.

 

He didn’t even say anything, just sat back down on the bed, patting the space next to him. Sirius didn’t hesitate, but paused when he saw Hermione lying on his bed.

 

His steps faltered, his eyes widened fractionally. Her hair was like a golden halo, splayed around her head. Her lips were parted and plump. Her skin was passionately flushed. Sirius’ pulse fluttered. The conversation with Madam Pince echoed in his ears.

 

She must be something.

 

He sat beside James and their knees bumped against each other, they were that close.

 

“She fell asleep as soon as we got in,” James said. “Literally. We stepped through the door and she collapsed. Your bed was closest, I guess.”

 

Sirius didn’t reply.

 

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he continued, and his voice was suddenly strangled and small. “Look at her arm, Sirius. Look at how little she is. How did she fight in a war? How did she survive?”

 

With a ragged breath, he broke off, closing his eyes. It was so hard to understand! Why did he care this much about her? It felt like a part of him was yearning to look after her, to make sure Hermione was never put in harm’s way again. But they’d only just met!

 

“I feel so much responsibility for her,” James said.

 

Sirius sucked in his lips. “So do I.”

 

He shook his head. “No, I mean, like I should protect her.” He laughed. A short, humourless sound that burst, almost strained, from his lips. “It’s so crazy.”

 

“I know,” Sirius replied. His dark eyes travelled over every inch of her body. James was right- she was little. “I can’t imagine her in a war.”

 

James chewed his thumb.

 

“She must’ve fought. Hell, she must’ve hurt people… With the intent of hurting them.”

 

“I know.”

 

Silence fell over them. It was such a weird situation to find themselves in, and both their minds were raging.

 

“Where’s Remus?”

 

“Doing homework in the Common Room. Pete’s with Mary.”

 

“Well,” James cracked a grin. “At least something good’s come of all this.”

 

Sirius dragged a hand over his eye and said, “Shit, I’m so tired. Where am I going to sleep?”

 

“You can sleep with me, if you want,” James offered, reluctantly getting to his feet.

 

“I’m a restless sleeper,” he warned.

 

“Trust me, I know. I’ve lived with you for almost seven years, Pad. Oh, and you talk in your sleep.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

Hermione laid in the bed, staring at the blackness of the ceiling, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible blackness of it all. The room was positively swathed in shadows, an obdurate darkness that meant she couldn’t even make out the bottom of her bed. Well, Sirius’ bed.

 

She’d slept well, for the few hours she had slept, but now she felt restless. The image of Ron’s pale face was etched on the insides of her eyelids, and she could see him every time she blinked or so much as closed her eyes.

 

Hermione’s stomach churned. It growled, hungry for something other than food, and her mind seemed to agree. There were so many questions whizzing around her brain. She needed answers.

 

Slipping out of bed, she picked up her wand, and whispered, “Lumos.”

 

Light flared into action, and she hastily wrapped her hand around it, not anticipating the brightness of the glow. Hermione glanced at the boys. They were all fast asleep, unmoving.

 

She padded over to the door, edging through it. The Common Room was just as dark, and she allowed the tip of her wand to guide the way out through the Portrait Hole and down the corridor. She knew exactly where she was going; exactly where she would find her answers.

 

The journey was quick as her step was fast and determined and before she knew it, she was closing the door behind her to the Defence classroom.

 

Hermione, back against the solid wood, exhaled deeply.

 

The room wasn’t as dark as the rest of the castle, as the large windows let moonlight spill in. Her eyes narrowed on the door at the top of the steps, where she knew Professor Meryl to be sleeping. Under her breath, she said a quick but efficient locking spell, ensuring her teacher wouldn’t interrupt.

 

She couldn’t risk anything tonight. This was something she needed to do.

 

The chest was at the front of the room, in the same position it had been in the day before. Hermione moved slowly towards it and, as if sensing her presence (and her fear, she swallowed), it juddered restlessly.

 

Her throat felt dry. She got close enough. Her fingers were trembling.

 

She opened the latch.

 

Hermione stumbled backwards, as the lid flew open, but no monster emerged for a while. Catching her breath, she simply stared at it. Her heart was beating erratically and she was scared she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

 

Then, something crawled out of the box, like a darkness crawling and clawing its way into existence. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, even as it morphed into something- someone else entirely.

 

“Hermione.”

 

His voice was the typical drawl she used to associate him with. His platinum blond hair seemed to glow, reflecting the light of the moon. His skin was pale and looked strangely like plastic.

 

Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him.

 

“Draco.”

 

He smiled at her, his lips curling upwards. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile and it struck a chord in her.

 

She had no idea what to say.

 

“This is peculiar.”

 

Hermione agreed. Finding her voice, she asked quietly, “Why did you save me?”

 

He acted as though he didn’t hear her.

 

“You know, I remember when you were at the Manor and my Aunt was torturing you. Your screams tore into my flesh. When she carved into your arm, it felt like she was cutting into me as well.” His voice was so nonchalant, as though everything he was saying wasn’t changing her life.

 

“Why did you lie to them? You said you didn’t recognise us,” she pressed.

 

Draco Malfoy finally stared at her. He looked exasperated and ragged, closer to the broken boy she remembered in the Room of Requirement, falling before her eyes-

 

“Because it’s you, Hermione! It’s always been you! It was never Potter. People claimed he was the saviour, but it was never Potter we relied on! It was you. You were supposed to save us.”

 

He faltered before her.

 

“You’re supposed to save us.”

 

Hermione shook her head, ignoring the tears. “What are you?” She asked. This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real.

 

“I’m what went wrong. I’m a consequence, Hermione.” Draco smiled at her, but his eyes were sad and his lips were shaking. He was drawing away and she desperately longed to reach out and drag him back to her. “I’m what happened. I’m what you need to change for this to work.”

 

She didn’t understand. She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age and she didn’t understand!

 

He was fading fast, slipping away.

 

“Draco!” Hermione cried, starting forward. “Draco!”

 

But he was gone, changing and shrinking, bubbling and shifting, until there was a body on the floor.

 

Hermione was frozen to the spot. She daren’t move forward, but she knew she had to. Her fear was eating her alive, but her curiosity was louder, egging her closer.

 

A horrified gasp tore itself from her mouth and her hand shot up to her face.

 

James Potter lay on the floor. He was dead; hazel eyes staring but not seeing, glasses askew on his nose. His normally expressive face was empty.

 

Then he was transforming again, and then Sirius Black, much older and shabby looking, was falling backwards, fingers stretching forward to wave one last goodbye, smile dying on his face.

 

Remus was next, and though Hermione hadn’t seen his death, she witnessed it now. He looked to be fighting diligently and his matured, scarred face was ferocious, but he froze and a small scream escaped her. He, too, began falling, tipping forwards and as he fell, he shrank in size to accommodate Peter Pettigrew’s adult body.

 

His metal hand twitched, reaching up for his own neck and the terror was poignant on his fat and dirty face. Closer and closer and closer, and then it encircled his thick, tree-stump of a neck, squeezing and his lips turned blue, his eyes popped, wide and sorry-

 

And he was James again, the young James, young and free. Still dead.

 

And he was Sirius, but the Sirius she knew belonged to this time, falling and falling, youth-splashed and beautiful.

 

And he was Remus, freezing. His teenage untidiness looking elegant in that way teenagers pull off effortlessly, but he was freezing and dipping.

 

And he was Peter, skinny and innocent. His protruding bones and ears exploding from the lack of oxygen…

 

And then it started all over again, and all Hermione could do was watch as the four people she had come to care about, more profoundly than even herself, died over and over and over and over-

 

“Hermione!”

 

She whipped around, wand pointed.

 

James stood there, evidently shocked. He was in his pyjamas, wand in one hand, paper in the other. He noticed her tears and frowned, starting forward to comfort her before he caught sight of the boggart behind her. The boggart that showed his own dead body, momentarily, as it flashed into Sirius’.

 

This was an even bigger blow for him. James’ eyes widened and he stumbled, looking faint. His hand reached out for support as he watched his best friend die.

 

“How did you find me here?” Hermione asked quickly, alarmed. Although her wand was lowered, her grip was still tight. Call it a side-effect of war paranoia.

 

James was still focused on the scene at the front of the room. She noticed, and tried to recapture his attention.

 

“James!”

 

He started, shaking his head slightly, but he was still sickly pale.

 

“How did you find me?”

 

James raised his eyebrows, and held up a large piece of parchment. Even though the darkness obscured the barely visible writing, she knew what it was immediately.

 

“The Marauders Map,” Hermione commented. Her voice was wistful.

 

He had clearly not expected this. James halted. “What?”

 

It was then, by the stutter and shock of his voice, that she realised her mistake.

 

She looked away, but her attention snagged on the body of Peter Pettigrew, strangling himself into oblivion.

 

James watched his smallest friend, and as it returned once more to his own body, his lungs felt like they were filling up with something denser than water. He needed to breathe, but he couldn’t. It felt like he was suffocating.

 

“Hermione?” He asked, his voice broken and fragile. “Hermione, what’s going on?”

 

She shook her head slowly, staring at the corpses. She murmured, “I just wanted answers.”

 

They were both spell-bound for a second, and then James couldn’t take anymore. It felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t breathe. He ran forward, throwing his wand and map to the side. The stick clattered on the floor. Hastily, he pushed the lid of the chest down, and the boggart (in the form of Sirius. James closed his eyes) was sucked back into the shadows of the box.

 

The emptiness of the room was resonating and hollow.

 

He focused on Hermione. He was gasping. “What was that?”

 

She raised her eyes to him, opened her mouth to speak… And broke down.

 

Her sobs echoed off of the high ceilings, and Hermione would have collapsed, if James hadn’t rushed towards her. He gathered her, absorbing her into his warm body.

 

James held her close, clutching her to him. Her hands gripped his pyjamas, digging into the skin of his arms, but he didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were still wide, shocked at everything she had just witnessed; her lips were parted in a silent plea for help. James was holding her so close, as though she might break, and this time, she didn’t mind. He was her lifeline, the only thing she could cling to, to cement her ties to this time period.

 

Because Hermione realised then, as the bodies of the Marauders as she had known them, as Voldemort, as Harry, Ron and Draco flashed before her, fading into the darkness, what her fear was.

 

She was scared of the future.

 

And, more importantly, she was scared of leaving time to destroy the people she loved most, while she sat back, and let the opportunity to change the world, trickle through the gaps of her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I really hope that made sense... I was quite scared about writing this chapter because I've had it planned out for a while now but it's really difficult to articulate it in a way that I know you'll all understand. Because it's my idea, I know what's going on, but it's so hard for me to contemplate whether or not someone outside of my head will understand too!!
> 
> If it's not clear, I will explain more and more in the upcoming chapters. This was just the revelation. I hope this is okay! PLEASE REVIEW! THE MORE REVIEWS I GET, THE QUICKER I WILL UPDATE! 
> 
> (Mwahaha, blackmail! Sirius is rubbing off on me!)


	17. Chapter 17- The Comprehension

When Hermione woke up the next day, she was in Sirius’ bed again, and she almost managed to convince herself everything had been a horrible dream. But her eyes stung impossibly, and her lips felt chapped.

It hadn’t been a dream. She closed her eyes again.

She had thought that when she finally realised what her boggart meant, it would bring her relief. And maybe even get rid of the fear that had been growing inside of her. But now, all Hermione felt, was that very same fear pulsing with more vigour than ever before.

The future. But it wasn’t so much the future, she realised, and the revelation left her reeling. It all came down to her original fear- failure. But now, well, it wasn’t failing any exam; it was failing the people she loved.

Changing the past had become her only option. It wouldn’t negate her own existence. Hermione knew that she’d make it out alive, regardless of anything else she did or chose to do. Unless she died in this timeline. But even if she did manage to somehow return to her own time, what would she find there? Her just being here was bound to have disrupted the timeline more than anyone could fully comprehend just yet. Would she still be friends with Harry and Ron? Would they still be trying to defeat the Dark Lord? Would they still be dead?

Hermione took a deep breath. It always came down to this. When the world was quiet and dark, and she should’ve been sleeping or reading or thinking about anything else, her mind always wandered back to this.

She knew, now and irrevocably, that her mind was made up. How could she possibly live with herself if she let everyone die? If she truly did let the world _burn_?

The boggart’s words echoed around her head once more, and she couldn’t help but feel unnerved again.

_“You’re going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I’m going to savour you.”_

Hermione sat up.

As she looked around the room, rubbing her eyes, and she noticed that the dormitory was empty. Light streamed in through the slits in the curtains, and judging from the brightness of it, she’d guess it was mid-morning.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

Swearing under her breath, she grabbed her wand from the bedside table and muttered, “Tempore Loquentis.”

The time flashed in front of her. _10:26_.

She was late for class!

Throwing back the covers, Hermione shot out of bed, quickly rummaging around for her bag (she was already thankfully dressed in her uniform, although it was crumpled up, so she had to cast a spell in order for her to look remotely presentable). She found it hidden under a pile of clothes.

Although she didn’t have time to do her hair, or even glance in the mirror, she shoved her unruly curls into a bun and rushed from the Common Room.  
Luckily, Hermione didn’t pass anyone in the corridors.

 _Well, of course you won’t_ , she thought bitterly, _because they’re all in class- where **you** should be!_

As she was mentally chastising herself, she didn’t realise just where she was going. She also completely missed the tall witch standing at the end of the corridor she was in.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione jumped, spinning around to look in the direction of the voice. Professor McGonagall stood there; her typical emerald robes and matching hat shone in the sunlight, and her younger face was smiling tightly.

“Professor!” Hermione said in way of a greeting. She blushed at the fact that her Head of House had just caught her essentially skipping class.

The older woman’s expression never faltered as she said, “Follow me.”

She turned on her heel and started walking, heading towards the door on the end that Hermione knew to be her office. Hermione swallowed and her throat felt unbelievably tight. With a look of disgruntled shame, she followed.

The office had not changed much. It was still poky but warm, with its brick walls and big brick fireplace to the right. Professor McGonagall swept across the room to sit behind her desk. She motioned for Hermione to sit in front of her.

Obediently, she did so, and broke into a hurried explanation.

“Professor, I’m not skipping class! I swear! I must’ve slept in, though I’m really not sure how and I really am dreadfully sorry. I don’t want to miss any more lessons than I have to and oh! I’ve already missed so much! I really didn’t-”

Her stern teacher sighed deeply. Hermione froze, cutting off, anticipating the worst with bated breath.

Finally, McGonagall said, “Have a biscuit, Miss Granger.”

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself… and blinked. “What?”

“Have a biscuit,” the older woman repeated, looking pointedly at the plate of chocolate biscuits on her desk. “

Hesitantly, Hermione reached out and took one chocolate biscuit. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she stared at it, letting it lie flat across the palms of both her hands, which rested on her knees. There was silence. Beside them, the fire crackled merrily.

“Professor,” she began. “I really am sorry. It won’t happen agai-”

McGonagall held up a hand, and her thin lips were still pursed in a smile. “That’s not what I wanted to speak to you about, Miss Granger. I simply wanted to ask you how you were settling in.”

Oh,” Hermione paused, lost for words once more. She considered this. “Well, I’m fine. I’ve made friends, I’m enjoying the lessons…” _When they’re not trying to kill me_ \- she added this part in her head.

“Well, that is a relief! Your friends, Misters Potter, Lupin, Black and Pettigrew claimed that your absence was down to infirmary.” Her thick Scottish accent resulted in the r’s rolling off her tongue.

She blushed. “No, ma’am.”

Here, Professor McGonagall sighed again and Hermione was sure she was about to receive a scolding. She stared at the biscuit, as though she could become it and absorb its chocolatey, blissful unawareness. Almost bitter, she bet the biscuit didn’t have to worry about destroying the world.

“Miss Granger,” her words were soft but firm. She leaned forwards, eyes piercing. “As your Head of House, I feel you should know that I am aware of your predicament.” Hermione’s blood ran cold. “And I merely want you to know that my door is always open, for whatever reason you may find yourself upon its doorstep. I once fought in a war too, you know.”

She dropped a wink for emphasis. Hermione allowed her lips to curl.

Her heart honestly felt warm and safe, and she looked at her former Headmistress with such a longing for home that she couldn’t bring herself to look away again. For Minerva McGonagall was everything _Hogwarts_ to Hermione. She was the cold stone walls, and the warm roaring fires. She was the festive dinners and the Quidditch triumphs. She was the very driving force behind the entire school.

“You know, professor,” Hermione smiled, and she tried not to let her sadness show as she said sincerely, “You were the most inspirational, most intelligent woman I ever met. Thank you.”

And she meant every word of it.

Professor McGonagall breathed in, and schooled her features into one of a tight semblance, but her emotion poured through the façade like water through paper. Her eyes were softer, and her lips were a little tighter, and she looked humbled.

Practically flustered, she said, “Take another biscuit, Miss Granger.”

Hermione took one.  
 

 

oOoOo  
 

 

“I still can’t believe she was in a war,” Remus said, throwing a stone into the lake.

They all had free period now, and had decided to spend it by their tree on the banking of the Black Lake. Peter was lied on his back in the shade, the book he was meant to be studying from for his Charms test, open across his face. Remus couldn’t tell whether he was sleeping or just unconscientious. Sirius and James were sat nearby.

The stone pierced the water with a soft _plop_ and sunk to the bottom.

“You don’t reckon she’s lying, do you?” Sirius asked. He had his cloak and jumper off, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, even though it wasn’t even remotely warm. The sunshine offered a lie to the world in the form of coldness. October had dawned quickly and quietly on the castle, and their breaths were small puffs of white; the promise of an upcoming winter.

James wrinkled his nose, “Nah.”

“Yeah,” Peter added. His voice was muffled from the pages and he rather liked it that way. “You can see it in her eyes- she’s seen things.”

The other three shared a look. When it came to discussions, their main way of resolving any dispute or petty disagreement was predominantly down to Peter. He barely deemed his opinions important enough to voice, or necessary enough to matter, so when he spoke, you automatically knew it was because he just couldn’t _not_ say it. He was often the referee; the impartial judge, whose verdict was unbiased solely for the reason of his fear of contribution in almost everything else.

He continued, after a minute of silent thinking, “Things that you shouldn’t ever have to see.”

As if this elaboration was needed.

Remus looked at James, who already seemed to be staring at him. They were both thinking the same thing.

“I still don’t get it, though,” Sirius said. Remus diverted his attention. “How can she be scared of the future?”

James had told them all about it in Transfiguration that morning, how she had confronted the boggart again in the middle of the night, how he had found her on the Marauders Map and followed her there to see if she was okay, and how she had then clung to him with a decided terror, with the repeated whisper of ‘ _the future’_ starting and dying on her lips.

“And why did the future take the form of You-Know-Who,” Remus added.

“And us dying over and over again,” James said. He was strangely pale, the events of the night before replaying before his mind. It felt like he was back in the darkness, watching his three best friends cease to exist over and over and over-

Peter perked up, “And James’ lookalike.”

James snapped out of it.

“And some blonde git who looked an awful lot like Malfoy,” Remus said.

It seemed they all had thought about this before.

“So she’s scared of the future,” Sirius reiterated. “What does that mean?”

His dark eyes rested on Remus, who was just about to throw another stone into the water. He froze.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you’re the supposed Boy-Genius.”

Remus, in resigned exasperation, said, “Just because I have a distinctly higher IQ than you doesn’t mean I understand this any more.”

Sirius groaned, flopping his head into his hands.

“And we’ve already discussed this. Stop calling me Boy-Genius. It puts a starling amount of pressure _on_ my genius.”

James felt his tongue go heavy in his mouth. He remembered the look of pure fear on Hermione’s face, the fragility in her voice, the trembling of her body. He remembered the desperate way in which she held onto him, like she thought he was going to fade away at any moment.

“I think she’s scared of what’s going to happen.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, even though he knew them to be true. Three pairs of eyes looked at him, as even Peter peered out from beneath the book. He tried to remain sure in their presence, but they knew him too well. He was crumbling at the edges.

James said, “You should’ve seen the way she acted. It wasn’t that she was scared for our deaths. Like Dumbledore said, the fear was abstract. Our deaths were just something that represented it. She looked…” He grappled for words, and when he found the right way to describe it, he swallowed and said quietly, “Like the world would end.”

“ _’You’re just a child, and you think you can change the world. You think you can save him, but you can’t. You’re just going to let it burn… You’re just going to let him burn,’”_ Remus recited softly. The stone was limp, a dead weight, in his hand.

“What?” Sirius asked, frowning.

Remus waved the stone for emphasis. “It’s something that’s been bothering me for ages- ever since Defence. The boggart, when it was You-Know-Who, said something about Hermione _thinking she can change the world._ I remember that part. Vividly. Because of how it affected her.”

James frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was after you had taken Sirius to the Hospital Wing,” Remus said dismissingly, and he wiggled the rock with more vigour. Sirius’ eyebrows shot up, into his hairline.

“Remus, will you put that bloody rock down? You’re going to end up knocking someone out with it!”

Blinking, Remus stared at Sirius, then frowned. He looked down at his hand, and blushed at the realisation of what he was doing, before he dropped the stone. It thudded when it hit the ground.

“So?” Peter asked, successfully directing their attentions back onto the topic at hand. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But why would she want to change the world?”

“More importantly, why would she just ‘ _let it burn_.’”

They each though about this. It was a muddling concept. That was the only problem with magic; any rational explanation was best left at the door. Irrational was the best step forward- as the Marauders knew well, there were no limits on irrationalities.

Which made their search one thousand times harder.

Sirius let out a frustrated sound, half animalistic growl and half desperate whine. He clambered to his feet, walking in a rush of movement, past Remus to the water’s edge, where he started to pace. This was all too much! Life had been so much simpler before Hermione had fucking fallen on him! But his footing faltered, causing his shoe to stomp right in the water. He sighed. Yeah, life had been so much simpler before Hermione Granger.

But he was unsure of whether or not he would change it if he could.

Sirius thought about everything they had learnt so far. She was clever, yes, and she’d been in a war, so whatever secret she was hiding would have to be hidden pretty damn well. And yet she’d slipped up more than once. He remembered she had.

“She knew about the Map,” James said in a low voice. He lifted his head to look at Sirius.

“She knew about it?” Peter asked incredulously.

Remus pressed, “We’ve never spoken about it in front of her, have we?”

“Of course not,” Sirius scoffed. “We’re clever. We’ve hidden it from everyone for two years now.”

“She’s been here not two minutes and she already knows us.”  
Remus opened his mouth to speak, and all of the colour drained from his face. His eyebrows, which had been tightly knitted together before, slackened. His lips parted but no sound came out.

“Remus?” Peter asked carefully.

There was quiet. And then:

“She called me Moony.”

The statement had the desired effect. Stillness settle over them, such an obdurate silence that it felt like no one was even daring to breathe lest they break it.

“She knows us,” James said, but he seemed confused, bewildered. “How does she know us?”

Sirius shook his head, pressing his hands against his temple and squeezing. When he was younger, this was the only way to stop the ringing in his ears.

Maybe it would help stop the silence too.

In the background, James was listing all the things they knew so far.

“So, she fell from a ceiling of a castle that is so heavily warded, not even the darkest wizard in the world can break into it-”

 

_“James…Sirius,” at each boy’s name, she spun around and looked at them. “Remus.”_

 

“-mention, she was broken and bloody! Only from fighting in a fucking war!”

 

_“I was in a war,” she said, in a soft tone of voice. Sirius stared at her. James gaped. Remus looked too alarmed to properly react. “But not how you would expect, Professor.”_

 

“C’mon Pete! What am I missing?”

 

_Within seconds, they were stood outside the tapestry. She could feel their eyes burning into her, curious and confused. This only increased as Hermione began pacing outside the wall, biting her thumb and thinking of solace._

 

“She knew about things she shouldn’t,” Remus interjected. His voice was distinctly cool.

 

_“I can remember people screaming and people dying and I remember the fear of having someone you loved next to you one minute, and have them dead the next..."_

 

He pushed against his head harder, and the force with which he did it, could have made his skull concave.

 

_“What were your demons saying?” Sirius asked. He didn’t sound curious, or prying, merely empty._

_“That I shouldn’t be here.”_

 

But why? Why shouldn’t she be here? This was safety! This was a haven! It was Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s power and presence. Why would she have to be anywhere else?

 

_“Sirius,” she stressed, looking directly at him. She pronounced each word slowly and clearly. “There is no war going on here.”_

 

Think. Just think. The answer was there, so close yet still evading his fingertips. He could feel it fluttering on the outskirts of his consciousness. He knew it. He just didn’t know what _it_ was just yet.

 

_“I just ask for you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. Regarding time, and how-”_

_“Dangerous things happen to those who meddle with it… I know, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”_

 

Sirius’ hands flew from his head with such haste and vigour that the other three instantly fell silent to stare at him. His eyes were dark but wide. His lips were open in a silent ‘O’. The comprehension was flitting across his face.

Although he couldn’t quite believe it, himself, the words tasted familiar on his tongue, like he’d always known it but could never really say it until now, and he liked the sound of them on open air:

  
“ _She’s from the future.”_


	18. Chapter 18- The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a new update, I'm afraid, but a new version of this chapter! It's worth the read even if you've already read it because there is probably an extra 1000+ words with additional detail and feels so tell me what you think:) I nearly made myself cry with this chapter.

Chapter 18- The Truth

 

Remus was the first one to react.

 

“No.”

 

He said the word repeatedly, sometimes loud and convincing, other times barely much more than a whisper. It seemed he was trying to process what Sirius had just said.

 

Peter didn’t really respond, he just stared at the floor. James forgot how to breathe.

 

“That can’t be true.”

 

Sirius shook his head, and got closer to Remus. They were stood directly in front of each other. “Think about it,” Sirius said. He was excited, throbbing with revelation. Shaking Remus’ shoulders, he continued, “She falls from the ceiling, claiming she was in a war. But- but she told me, she specifically told me, that there was no war going on! But I just thought she meant at Hogwarts! Hermione’s been trying to tell us from the start!”

 

Remus sighed, but he made no move to push Sirius’ hands off his shoulders. He seemed resigned; as if this would leave him hollow if it was indeed true.

 

James swallowed, and his lungs ached. He asked faintly, “Why… Why would you think that?”

 

“When we were in the Hospital Wing,” Sirius explained. “Dumbledore was there when I woke up. They were talking and he was warning her about how dangerous time was! Why else would he warn her about time? On top of that, she’s scared of the future! Hermione’s-”

 

“If she’s scared of the future, and she saw us dying, does that mean we’re already dead in her time?” Peter said. His voice was precariously quiet. Sirius faltered, staring at him.

 

Remus’ head shot up, and his eyes found Sirius’ face, which looked so lost in that moment. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but he had no words.

 

“We don’t know what time she’s from. She could be from 100 years in the future, she could be from 10. We don’t know,” James said. The conviction behind his words seemed to be only there to convince his friends. James wasn’t even sure that he believed himself. “For all we know, our deaths could be… reasonable.”

 

“Reasonable?” Sirius repeated.

 

"She knew us," Remus said, shaking his head. "Or she knows us. Hermione can't be from that far into the future if she knows us."

 

James sighed, taking his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to think. Growing up around magic, you start to think that anything's possible, and then something comes along and breaches the very definition of possible and leaves you reeling with the muddled mind of rationality. He froze. How could she be from the future? How could she see their ends? The answer was hollowing. "Then we die..."

 

"Everyone dies, James," Sirius said and his voice bordered on the snidest tone his aristocracy had gifted him with. Serious situations, ironically enough, did not seem to bode well with him.

 

“You know what I mean!” James snapped.

 

“Okay!” Remus interrupted, not missing the frown that passed over Sirius’ face. He rubbed his cheek. A ragged breath tore itself from his throat and he felt his eyes sting, so he closed them for a few seconds. He'd like to think he was collected; it was the one thing Remus tried to be above all else. If he could not control himself, he truly wondered if there was anything less human than chaos. Remus did not like feeling out of control. He loathed the feeling of helplessness; he hated being weak or dependant on someone or something. He hated the wolf and everything it stood for. All he had ever wanted was to be just Remus.

 

He levelled out his breathing, and when he opened his eyes, the other three were staring at him. Shaking his head, he said, “We’re going to have to talk to Hermione about this. You do know that?”

 

Peter looked away. James licked his cracked lips.

 

“I say we do it now,” Sirius said. His voice left no room for discussion.

 

Peter’s eyes were sharp as they darted to Sirius. “Now?”

 

“Yeah. Why not? If we don’t do it now, we won’t do it ever.”

 

“Sirius,” Peter began. His voice was strangely distinct. “She’s been in a war. She’s seen some things…” he broke off. It was like he was trying so hard to articulate what he meant, but couldn’t. With Peter, every word that came out of his mouth was a victory for his tongue sometimes blocked the words. James wanted to say something, but he had learnt that it was best to stay quiet and let Pete struggle it out. Peter’s face screwed up slightly, and he eventually managed to say, “I don’t want to hurt her…”

 

His voice was so small. Sirius glanced at Remus. James just stared at his friend. It was strange for Peter to react in such a strong way. He was so mild; washed out and quiet, like a white smudge on a white canvas. You could only see him if you were looking close enough and the boys were astute- they always seemed to be looking close enough.

 

“We won’t, Pete,” Remus assured, and after a second, he moved over to help him to his feet. James and Sirius watched them. Remus turned back and said, in a voice that was straining to be strong, “Well? Are we doing this or not?”

 

They all started walking up the hill, back to the castle. It looked grand and welcoming in the winter coldness, and they were each overwhelmed by the sensation of homeliness that washed over them at the sight of it. Sirius wavered in his footing, eyes drawn to one of the windows- no particular one, but his face looked deeply troubled. He found his head light and the air tasted poisonous.

 

James was the first to realise he had stopped and turned around. Remus and Peter soon followed suit.

 

Sirius licked his lips and called, “What if we don’t like what we hear?”

 

The implications were heavy enough, drowning out the insecurity in his voice. What if we’re wrong? What if we’re told something we don’t want to know? What if the future is something best left buried?

 

Remus’ shoulders rose and fell. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

 

 

******

 

 

Hermione sat, curled up, in front of the fire in the Room of Requirement. A blanket that had been conjured was wrapped around her body. She’d stayed with Professor McGonagall for a long time, just sitting in comfortable silence, sometimes discussing the key points of Transfiguration, until the elder woman had to go. Then, Hermione had retired to here, the very same room that she had asked for on her first night in the past.

 

It was here that she had fallen asleep for the first time, and rested peacefully, not plagued by nightmares. It was here that she had shown the boys her scar, and they had looked into her with a sadness as deep as their souls. It was here that Hermione had finally felt safe, after so long of feeling nothing but empty.

 

The door burst open and she whipped around, frowning, but her face cleared when the Marauders poured into the room. She turned back around and said lightly, “Thanks for the wake-up call. Professor McGonagall really appreciated my skipping class.”

 

Hermione neglected to tell them that their teacher didn’t actually mind, and she was thankful for the extra few hours of sleep. At their silence, she looked back at them.

 

They were all panting and red-faced, and James was clutching the Map. All of their faces were taunt.

 

She was suddenly alarmed. Her mind turned over the possibilities, and she felt sick. A lifetime of war had her always fearing the worst. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

 

Peter lowered his eyes. James looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

 

Sirius said, “We know.”

 

And those two words were worse than anything else she could have imagined.

 

She knew exactly what they were talking about. What else could it be?

 

Hermione let her head drop forward, and her hands loosened so the blanket fell from around her shoulders. She was vaguely aware of someone saying something, but the sound was muffled- a wall of silence blocked out any noise, and it was closing in on her. Fast. Her skin felt hot and her mouth felt dry and Hermione’s lungs were emptying themselves before she could stop them. She just had time to bend over the side of the sofa and be sick onto the floor.

 

Tears automatically filled her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and her mouth burned. Someone’s arms wrapped around her, and she was pulled backwards into a tight embrace. Hermione apologised over and over, wiping her lips. The person beside her (she thought it might be James- his smell gave him away) hugged her closer. Remus cleaned up the vomit with a wave of his wand. Peter sat on the floor, his eyes wet. Sirius was pacing on the other side of the room.

 

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to. Hermione, we didn’t want to scare you. We didn’t mean to,” James muttered softly.

 

She buried her head into him, wishing she could cocoon herself in his warmth and freedom. His heart was fast but constant against her ear. “How…? How do you know?”

 

Sirius looked over at that, and his expression softened. “You’ve been trying to tell us for so long. We just needed to listen.”

 

Hermione’s heart melted in her chest. He was right. She had tried telling them; she’d been so close so many times to revealing everything. It was just too hard! How was she supposed to walk around and dance with ghosts, when her demons had yet to be silenced? How was she meant to act as though everything was okay and will be okay, when the world was splitting at the seams and shattering around them?

 

She was chained to the future and banished to the past, and her heart couldn't take the pain anymore.

 

Remus swallowed. He was stood in front of her, to the right, with his hands deep in his pockets. Hermione could see they were clenched. He said, "You knew our names. That first night, when you woke up in the Hospital Wing, remember? You called us by our names."

 

Hermione stared at him, her head throbbing, her chest aching with the fact that they had been looking after her closely since the very first day she had arrived in the past.

 

Remus opened his mouth to continue, but the words, 'You called me Moony' froze his lips.

 

"And you knew your way around Hogwarts," Peter said. She could barely hear him. "Dumbledore didn't tell you about this place, did he?"

 

Mutely, she shook her head.

 

"I heard you both speaking in the infirmary. You were talking about time. About the dangers of meddling with it," Sirius admitted and he seemed almost subdued; a stark contrast from his previous excitement. "You also told me. Inadvertently. You said there was no war going on at this time... On the Astronomy Tower. Do you remember that?"

 

James' words were soft and wet in her ear. "Your biggest fear is the future. You have... Flashbacks, memories, things that you would rather forget, of this place. Like you'd been here before and it scared you. Like it broke you."

 

Hearing it dribble from their mouths made the truth hurt more than Hermione could bear. Her head and stomach suddenly erupted in a faint fluttering feeling, like hundreds of butterflies had broken free, overpowering her worry and instead, Hermione felt… relief.

 

Now, she could be honest. At least a little. She could be herself.

 

“Well you’re right,” she said quietly. Then she smiled, a weak watery smile and said, “Hi, I’m Hermione Granger. I was born on the 19th September, 1979.”

 

Remus stopped short. This was clearly not what they'd been expecting. “That’s two years from now.”

 

“Yes,” she laughed. “You’re quite a bit older…”

 

He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, and Hermione supposed he hadn’t.

 

“Do you know us in the future?” Sirius asked.

 

“Sirius,” James warned. His voice was low, his breath warm, and his chest rumbled. He ignored him.

 

Her lips parted to reply, but she hesitated. Sirius continued adamantly, “You did, didn’t you? You knew us.” His chest grew heavy, like lead, like a weight was being forced down on his bones. The realisation dawned on him, and his heart felt like it was encompassed with darkness. “You saw us die…”

 

Hermione closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Her silence answered the question, and James’ arms slackened slightly. Peter’s mouth dropped.

 

She opened her eyes and looked at them all with a startling intensity. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not going to let you die.” The passion and fire with which she spoke had them rendered quiet.

 

“Tell us what happened, Hermione,” Remus said, pleaded. “Let us help you.”

 

Staring at him, she felt her mind go suddenly blank. Why did it do this around them? Whenever she needed to think, she felt the cogs of her brain grind to a halt. Hermione knew her conclusion, even before she came to it. She was going to tell them. Everything.

 

But where to start? And what to tell?

 

As though he were there, Dumbledore's voice echoed across her mind. The beginning.

 

Her voice was small and it kept breaking from the weight of the secret it was carrying. "As you know, a dark wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort is growing. His followers… known as Death Eaters are increasing by the minute. And not just Wizards either; vampires, goblins, giants, werewolves.” Remus looked down. “After you leave school, you’re going to join an organisation against these dark forces, led by Dumbledore, known as the Order of the Phoenix. You will fight, and you will be hurt and the people you love will die all around you, every day, and this will become your life.” They were enraptured by her story, equally horrified and beguiled by the nightmare that they would inevitably live. “And then, there will be a prophecy: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...'” Hermione felt her chest grow tight, as she remembered her best friend’s smile and laugh and eyes and she had to swallow before she said, “It’s your son, James. Your son… And my best friend.”

 

She didn’t have to look at him to know that he was numb with shock. Peter said, “That’s who the boggart turned into. Not James. But James’… son.”

 

Hermione simply nodded.

 

“There were two possibilities, but it didn’t matter. Voldemort had decided it was your son, and so… he came to your house, on Halloween night. You were betrayed.” Her voice was thick and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Peter. She was sobbing. “He killed you, James. He killed your wife and he tried to kill Harry, but the spell backfired. It was an ancient protection charm- the strongest in the world-”

 

“Love,” Remus murmured. “I’ve read about those.”

 

“Yes, love. Voldemort was defeated by a baby, and he was gone for years, but you were dead.”

 

"When?" Sirius asked. His voice was trembling, unstable, and the question nearly made him sob. "When? We can stop this. We can stop it. I'm not-" letting you die.

 

James stared at him. He didn't even know how to react.

 

Hermione couldn’t breathe. “You were 21 years old.”

 

Sirius let out a sob. He couldn’t contain it. “You’re telling me that my best friend is dead in- he’s dead in four years?” And he snapped. His voice broke; it couldn’t hold the emotion. He stormed away, his magic flaring from his body, sending books flying from the shelves that lined the room.

 

Remus was watching Hermione in horror, his own cheeks wet at the mere mention of his best friend’s death. Peter was silently crying. She had to inhale, compose herself, before she continued, when Sirius returned and sat in an armchair.

 

“He grew up with his only living relatives, Muggles, and they treated him terribly! And then he received his Hogwarts letter and he came here and he met me and Ron…” Hermione allowed herself to smile. “He saved me, you know, from a troll that had been set loose in the castle. He was eleven! And he defeated a mountain troll! And that wasn’t all… Voldemort came back..." She paused, and said timidly, "How much do you want to know?"

 

It was James who answered.

 

"Everything."

 

 

"He’d found a way to become immortal. Horcruxes. Dark, dark magic. He split his soul into seven pieces, locked them in objects and he could only truly die once all of his soul had been destroyed. He was indestructible…" Hermione explained. “It was in our second year when we first encountered one. A diary, containing a young Voldemort. His plan was to open up Slytherin’s secret chamber and set free the Basilisk to purge the school of Mudbloods… people like me.” She managed to keep her tone matter-of-fact, as she wanted to explain everything before she broke down, but seeing the horrified expressions of the four boys, she added hastily, “It’s really not that important. I was petrified for the majority of that year but if you’re really that interested, I’ll tell you more about it later.

 

“Anyway, Harry defeated him by destroying the diary. One horcrux down, six more to go. Third year was…” Hermione trailed off. Her eyes magnetically landed on Sirius, tracing his stubble-kissed face and long eyelashes and comparing him to the broken man she knew. Her throat had a lump in it, and she found she couldn’t really tell him. The lie was bitter and cold in the air. “Surprisingly normal. We got a new teacher, who could actually teach, and we didn’t savour the freedom we had, which we should’ve done… Because our fourth year changed everything.

 

“The Triwizard Tournament was being hosted by Hogwarts. Do you know what that is?” She asked because she didn’t feel like clarifying it all, but their wide and ambitious eyes told her they did. “Well, Harry was picked. A Death Eater undercover put his name in the goblet and he was picked. He had to fight a dragon, and save Ronald from merpeople and survive a maze filled with all sorts of creatures!”

 

Hermione’s eyes shone with the memory of pride for her best friend. Peter stared in awe. “A dragon?”

 

“That’s my boy!” James exclaimed, and his voice was thick.

 

Sirius barked a half-hearted laugh, “Bet he put his name in himself, if he was James’ son!” But the sentence was warm and loving.

 

Her face grew grave. “But the trophy was a portkey. It transported Harry to a graveyard where Wor- a Death Eater was. Voldemort came back. For real. Not just some spirit on the back of a man’s head, not a projection of his soul. He was back.”

 

Hermione remembered Amos Diggory’s anguished ululations at the sight of his son’s dead body. She heard the screams and the trailing off of the band.

 

“Fifth year got dark. Everyone was turning on each other, no one could sleep without feeling unsafe. Voldemort was nowhere and everywhere; no one believed Harry, but he knew, we knew, he was back. Sixth year was our last year at Hogwarts and it was… nice. Dumbledore was hunting down horcruxes. Everything was fine… And then we were at war…”

 

Flashes of light. The weight of the locket. The screams resonating around Malfoy Manor. Pain. Watching the people she loved die. Over and over and over-

 

“He wanted Harry dead, but he always failed. For seven years, he tried…” Hermione stuttered into silence. “And then he succeeded…”

 

She was going to tell them everything… but not right now. Hermione hadn’t realised how hard it would be. The stories of her time on the run died on her lips, because she was overwhelmed with the warm memories of Ron’s sarcasm, and Ginny’s bluntness and Neville’s growth and Harry’s compassion. Everything, all the individual shining moments that contrived to make her school life, replayed in her mind. She hadn’t realised how much she missed them- how much she wished she could go back to the start and relive all of it, all over again, despite the outcome! Because even though she knew what happened; that everyone once great would fall, and that the darkness would take over, Hermione knew that if she could go back, she would not change any of it.

 

But now she had to. It wasn’t a choice anymore; it wasn’t a question. It was the only way that she could make everything good again. It didn’t matter anymore about her. It didn’t matter how she felt or if she even lived- war had taught her that, but then she had had something, someone, worth living for. Now, she had nothing. No one.

 

Now, she was alone.

 

But Hermione didn’t have to be alone in vain. If she could only do it right, she knew she could reshape the world- or shape it her own way altogether. She could make sure they lived. She could ensure that Harry had the chance to grow up, and marry Ginny and have children in a place that wasn’t haunted. She could ensure that Ron would smile forever, like he was supposed to, with his dimples and freckles and crinkles by his eyes. She could make sure they lived.

 

Hermione levelled her gaze on James and said in a firm but shaking voice, “He was the best man I ever knew, James. And he’s dead.” James was crying silently. “And I’m here, alive and talking to you all, the people he loved most in the world, when it should be him. It should be Harry. I’m here instead! I should be dead! But I’m not! This is such a mistake! It’s all one big mistake!”

 

Hermione screamed the last part, lashing out at the world for its unfairness. Because it was unfair! It was unfair that she had to do this alone! It was unfair that she had to live with the scenes of everyone she cared for dying over and over in her head! It was unfair that she was alive!

 

And as she calmed down, she wished she had died on the battlefield.

 

She opened her mouth to continue, feeling a need to explain everything, but not knowing where to start. Remus shook his head. “You don’t have to go on, Hermione. You can tell us another time, if you want. You don’t have to tell us now.”

 

And she was thankful for that, because she had another urge to scream again.

 

“We all make mistakes,” James said firmly. And though his arms were tight around Hermione, his eyes were locked on Remus. “We’re human. It’s what we do.”

 

But she just shook her head, letting it drop against his chest. Her lips were red and sore from crying, and she stared at some point on the floor, because she was scared she would lose herself again. But she didn’t. Now, she just felt empty.

 

Hermione swallowed and she said, “Yes. But not this one. I can’t make this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed it!! This is probably an extra thousand or thousand and a half in terms of word totals, because I was really tired last night but felt like I owed you an update:) This version (I hope) is SO MUCH BETTER!! Haha!
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to say that so many of your reviews are SO inspiring to me! As someone who loves to write, to see this kind of feedback honestly brings me to tears... so thank you for taking time to write them... Thank you so much. Most of them genuinely make me cry! And give me really big smiles when you tell me how the story affected you or made you feel, or specific parts that made YOU smile! It's so nice to hear!!!! (I know, I'm a horrible person who thrives of making people cry!)


	19. Chapter 19- The Girls

Chapter 19- The Girls

 

There were still so many questions that bounced around James’ head, even as they walked back to the Common Room later that evening. None of them were particularly hungry. Not even Peter, who was always hungry. And since they'd skipped afternoon classes, the only thing for them to do was retreat to their dormitory. James glanced at Hermione, and she had her arms wrapped around herself. She still looked ill, and he wanted to move and pull her closer to him. He wanted to look after her, and he didn’t know why. It felt like some innate urge to protect her, against his better judgement, against all odds.

 

She hadn’t told them everything. They still didn’t know how or why she travelled back in time; why she fell from the Gryffindor ceiling, of all places. They didn’t know what happened to their future self, or how she knew them. Or what she planned to do now.

 

All they knew was that Hermione Granger hadn’t been born yet, and she was already the most exceptional bundle of nerves and sparks the world had ever seen.

 

They reached the Fat Lady, where Remus muttered the password, and they all stepped inside. Here, it was noisy and brash, and everything Gryffindor house was meant to be. Hermione felt a strange sense of serenity wash over her at it's familiar sight.

 

Lily jumped up from her seat as soon as she saw her and ran over.

 

"Hermione!" She pulled her into a hug.

 

Surprised, Hermione let herself melt into the smaller girl's embrace. It was warm but firm, gentle but secure and she found herself wanting to stay there. Lily let go, however, and said, concerned, "How are you feeling?"

 

"Oh. I'm okay now. Thank you. I just needed some rest," she smiled faintly.

 

"Are you sure? You don't need to see Madam Pomfrey-?"

 

Hermione snorted. "I definitely don't need to see Madam Pomfrey! I could have a cough and she wouldn't let me leave for a whole week!"

 

Sirius appeared beside her, his hand rubbing the top of her arm. "Sorry, Evans, but I'm gonna have to steal Miss Granger here. We're going to bed."

 

Lily's lips parted, then closed, as if she was deliberating saying something. She must've come to a decision for she said, "There's a spare bed in the girls dormitory. I mean, only if you want to, of course- you can move in with us."

 

Mary, who was eavesdropping all the way from the sofa, whooped. She grinned toothily, "That'd be ace! You totally should, Hermione!"

 

"Yeah, those boys can get irritating after a while. I can't spend two minutes with them, never mind two nights," Marlene added, but she winked to let them know she was joking.

 

Hermione let herself smile and she nodded. "That would be nice, thank you."

 

Lily beamed. "Don't worry about it! I'll show you which bed is yours, if you want?"

 

From besides her, Sirius looked wounded. "Kitten? How could you do this to us, to me? I thought we had something special..."

 

He removed his hand from her, and raised it to his forehead where he looked as though he might swoon. Remus raised an eyebrow in slight interest. "What's this?"

 

Sirius whipped around to face him. "Our Hermione is fleeing the nest!"

 

Her chest felt extremely light as she scoffed; despite having shed the light on her true origins, the boys were still as goofy and stupid as they had been before. She didn't know why this reassured her, but she supposed it was warming to know that some things never changed.

 

Peter piped up, "Who's fleeing the nest?"

 

"Oh, honestly! I'm not fleeing the nest-"

 

"Hermione?" James asked incredulously. "Hermione's fleeing the nest! Why ever would she leave us?"

 

Sirius waggled his finger at James. "It's your Lily! She's brainwashed Hermione just like she brainwashed you! I swear, she's conspiring against me!"

 

Lily's lips curled at the corners, a deep blush painting her cheeks at the mention of her being James' Lily. She patted his arm lovingly. "Oh Sirius, I could never conspire against you..." Then, she added, "You're too easy. I like a bit of a challenge."

 

Hermione let herself laugh, and Lily said to her, "I'll meet you in our room?"

 

"Okay."

 

She disappeared. Then Hermione turned to the boys. They were stood in a row. Peter, with his large ears and scrawny frame with a uniform too big and a presence too small. James, tall and lanky; with his wonky glasses and wonky hair, but who was irrevocably home. Sirius, tall but not quite as tall as James or Remus; a diamond in the rough, or maybe the rough of a diamond- Hermione wasn't sure, but he was a knife with soft edges to her. And finally, Remus, the tallest of them all, shabby and scruffy but real and there. Even though he was smudged, he seemed so distinct.

 

They just stared at each other. The mood grew solemn.

 

"Well, I'm fleeing the nest," Hermione said jokingly, but the humour was weak.

 

Sirius cracked a smile.

 

"Thank you," she said. She was serious. Her eyes bore into each of them. "For everything."

 

And she was so grateful, that words could not express how she felt. These boys had taken her in and cared for her, even though she was broken and battered, perhaps beyond repair. They had listened and anchored her down to the world. They had saved her.

 

Just as she turned to go, Remus reached out and took her hand. His eyes were amber and light and bright, and he stared into her, and he meant every word. “Hermione… You know that we’ve got you. It doesn’t matter that we were never supposed to have you, or that you’re supposed to be dead, because you’re here and you’re alive, and we’ve got you. Okay? I promise.”

 

Hermione looked at him, before she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close, stifling the urge to cry again. Although initially taken aback, Remus folded his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. He closed his eyes.

 

When she eventually pulled back, she said again, looking at each of them, "Thank you."

 

Sirius just smiled. "Goodnight Kitten. Sweet dreams."

 

 

 

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she was blissfully aware that she had slept well. Having her own bed with the knowledge that it was hers, did not escape her. The sunlight streamed in through the slit in the curtains, and soft snores and deep breaths reached her ears, telling her the other girls were still asleep.

 

She felt restless. Whilst she was refreshed and well-rested, now, she could not stay still. She needed to move, to go somewhere else, for lying in bed any longer would drive her insane.

 

Hermione peeled back the covers, gently slipping her feet onto the floor. Lily had let Hermione borrow some of her old pyjamas that she had claimed she didn’t need anymore, and so she was wearing a night dress, with ruffled shoulders, long sleeves that were cuffed at the wrist with a button, and a white frilly neckline. The 1970’s fashion was different, but strangely comfortable and Hermione found she rather liked it.

 

She had kept her socks on, and she padded across the dormitory, slipping out of the room and down the stairs. The Common Room was quiet. The fire still crackled in the hearth, and nobody else appeared to be awake.

 

She moved to sit on the settee, when she jumped at the sight of a wide awake James Potter.

 

“James?”

 

He was just in the middle of raising a cup of what looked to be tea to his lips, when his eyebrows raised and he looked at her.

 

“Hermione.”

 

His hair was all over the place, glasses crooked on his nose; he looked as though he had been awake a while. Hermione smiled softly, sitting on his right.

 

“Did I wake you?” James asked, and his arm flopped to lie behind her. Her mouth gaped in a long yawn.

 

“No,” she said. “I just woke up and felt like coming to sit down here.”

 

He watched her as she ran her hand through the wild tangles of her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Oh yes,” she replied, letting her head tip back and she beamed at him. Her curls tickled his fingers. “Incredibly, actually.”

 

James looked wounded. “More so than when you slept with us?”

 

Her eyes widened and she let out a loud laugh at the innuendo, reaching up to cover her mouth and silence her mirth. Her amusement simply doubled however when he seemed to realise what he had said, and his ears turned a dark pink.

 

He mumbled, “Oh… I didn’t mean that.”

 

Still amused, she said jokingly, “I gathered.”

 

“I just meant- Well… It doesn’t matter. That’s good, though. As long as you slept well, and didn’t have any-”

 

He broke off.

 

Nightmares.

 

Although he didn’t say it, the word echoed between them. She had told them a lot yesterday, and she felt weird when she remembered that she didn’t ask them not to act any differently around her. She was still Hermione.

 

"Please don't act like I'm going to break," Hermione said in a small voice. "I'm stronger than this. I swear."

 

James' hand, on the end of his arm which had been casually thrown across the top of the cushion she was leaning on, stretched up to caress her shoulder. He smiled sideways at her. "I know."

 

"I just," Hermione licked her lips. "I don't want you feeling like you have to tread on broken glass around me."

 

“Hermione,” he said, exasperated. “We treated you like that before we even knew of the horrors you’ve been through!”

 

She swallowed. “I can handle it though, I promise.”

 

“I know you can. We just care about you. Regardless of your past… or future, I guess- we still care about you.”

 

Hermione smiled at him, and he motioned for her to come closer. She shuffled next to him, relaxing into the thin yet undeniably warm mould of his body. It was always James that seemed to fill her crevices. He always held her, and warmed her up, and knew how to make her feel complete, even when she was crumbling.

 

“I was more…” she said quietly, feeling the need to explain. “When I was whole, when I was happy… I was more than this. I just want you to know that.”

 

James was quiet. His chest reverberated through her. All he said was, “You’re enough now.”

 

They stayed like that for a while, relishing the content peacefulness of the early morning. James gave her the rest of his tea, which was strong and far too sweet for her liking, but she drank it anyway. They remained in this position for a while, occasionally talking about unimportant things that they could throw away as soon as the castle awoke from its slumber.

 

The portrait hole swung open suddenly. And Remus stepped through.

 

He looked tired. His robe was fastened up over the top of his pyjamas, and he didn’t seem fully aware of his surroundings.

 

“Moony,” James said, head perked to look at his friend.

 

Remus’ eyes fell on James and Hermione on the sofa, and he didn’t properly see them. Blinking a few times, his eyes focused. “Oh. Hello.”

 

“What are you doing up?” James asked, and the concern he felt barely leaked into his voice. It was something he’d had to learn to conceal; with Remus, any hint of concern for his wellbeing was, to him, an insult to his strength. Although he’d never worded it as such, James knew that Remus disliked being taken care of, disliked being more of a burden than he already was.

 

James thought that Remus could never be a burden, but it wasn’t an opinion reciprocated, so he kept quiet.

 

“Sleepwalking,” Remus replied dryly, getting close enough so he could collapse in the armchair by the fireplace.

 

Hermione smiled, and she remembered the miniature Hogwarts, made up of clutter and rubbish. The scene of him sat, cross legged, on the floor of a room bathed in fairy lights, precisely adding intricate details to the model, flitted across her mind. It never ceased to amaze her how Remus had turned something useless and disposable into something valuable.

 

And yet, there was something ironic to it; how Remus could see the beauty in everything but himself.

 

“What are you two doing up?” He asked, laying back and looking at them through half-closed lids.

 

“Early bird,” James said in way of reply.

 

Hermione shrugged. “I slept well… Just couldn’t sleep any longer.”

 

Remus kept his eyes on her. It was weird for them to be acting as though nothing had happened. Now he thought about it, it was even weirder that they weren’t automatically turning every conversation into one about the future. He didn’t know whether or not he could ever ask her what became of Sirius, Peter… and himself, despite the burning curiosity inside of him.

 

But there was also that twinge of trepidation. What if he didn’t like what he heard? What if the truth was more painful than anything else in the world?

 

The Common Room progressively got busier and louder, and it was when Lily sauntered over to them, hair mussed up and still half-asleep, did they actually bother moving. James sat up a little straighter, his eyes strictly glued to her face and not her bare legs. His Adam’s apple bobbed once.

 

“Hermione, I thought I’d find you out here!” She yawned as she got closer, rubbing her face. A lazy smile curled her lips. “Good morning, Remus, James.”

 

“Hi Lily,” Hermione beamed. Remus lifted a hand in greeting.

 

James craned his neck to look at her, as she leaned on the back of the sofa. “How did you sleep?”

 

Momentarily taken aback by his softness, Lily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled, “Good. And you?”

 

“Amazing,” he grinned.

 

Her cheeks turned a light pink. She diverted her attention to Hermione quickly. “I have some uniform you can borrow as well, if you want? Until Professor Dumbledore lets you get your own?”

 

Hermione nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

“I could also brush your hair for you,” Lily continued, running her fingers through the soft tangles of Hermione’s hair. She must have seen the look of horror on her face as she added, laughing, “I promise not to hurt you! I’ll be gentle.”

 

She dropped her chin to rest on top of Hermione’s head.

 

Hermione lifted her hand up, sighing dramatically, and Lily let out a happy noise, pulling her up. She only had time to mime a ‘Help me’ to the boys, who stifled their snorts, before she was dragged up the stairs to their dormitory.

 

“Hermione!” Marlene announced as soon as the blonde caught sight of her. She smirked. “And here, we thought you’d run away!” She threw a pillow at Mary’s face. “Told you you snored.”

 

Mary scowled, and continued getting dressed. Lily made a beeline for her chest, flipping it open and retrieving some uniform for both herself and Hermione.

 

Marlene, fully clothed, strode over to the bathroom, making sure to push Mary hard enough that the other girl fell onto her bed, with her jumper stuck over her head. A muffled sound of indignation could be heard and Hermione tipped her head back and laughed loudly.

 

Shooting her a look of appreciation, Marlene disappeared into the bathroom to do her makeup.

 

Hermione dressed hastily, feeling Lily almost bounce with excitement beside her. As soon as her tie was complete, she was forced to sit on the edge of the bed, with the bubbling redhead sitting behind her.

 

It was surprisingly relaxing, and Lily was gentle, just as she promised. Her brush barely pulled Hermione’s knots at all, and she heard Lily humming under her breath. Her eyes fluttered to a close, and it was almost massaging.

 

Once she’d finished, she put the brush down and her nimble fingers made quick work of the now smooth hair, plaiting it into a loose fishtail.

 

Lily then jumped off the bed, kneeling in front of her, and started applying small amounts of foundation and mascara and whatever else she seemed to have in her top drawer of the bedside cabinet. Her tongue kept flicking out to rest between her lips and a small crease appeared between her eyebrows.

 

Hermione, despite her initial reservations, found she rather enjoyed this attention. With Harry and Ron, there was really no time to talk about makeup, and practise different hairstyles. Although Ginny had tried (quite valiantly), Hermione had been too busy to allow herself to succumb to such feminine wishes.

 

But now she felt deliriously happy.

 

Marlene came out of the bathroom, lips pink, eyes dark, and her mouth dropped when she caught sight of Hermione. Her manicured hands cupped her face. “Oh! You look beautiful!”

 

Hermione blushed, but her smile gave her away. Mary’s head shot to look, and her wide mouth split into a grin.

 

Lily picked up her wand, muttering a spell and waved it in front of her. A small, handheld mirror appeared, and she sat beside Hermione, holding it up for her to see. She rested her head on her shoulder.

 

“There! I told you I’d be gentle!”

 

Hermione touched her cheek hesitantly. She looked so different, and yet the same. Her eyelashes were longer, and her eyelids shimmered a faint gold. Her cheeks were naturally blushed, and flawless. A few loose curls escaped from the braid, framing her face.

 

“How did you do that?”

 

Lily looked puzzled. “How did I do what?”

 

“Make me look presentable,” Hermione laughed.

 

Lily shook her head and said, “Hermione, you already looked presentable. Now go out there and show the world Hermione Granger!"

 

And even as Lily hopped off to do her own hair, and Mary began singing a surprisingly in-tune version of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (with Marlene screeching backups), the words resonated with her, playing on a loop.

 

Go out there and show the world Hermione Granger!

 

Hermione felt a swell of determination rise inside of her. That was exactly what she was going to do...

 

And she hoped the world was ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updaateeee!! Wooo! Not a particularly important chapter, but I feel like it's about time to expand the girls' friendship with each other:)
> 
> Anyway, please make sure to leave a review because I check my email every morning and night (that is how much your reviews mean to me!!!!)


	20. Chapter 20- The Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO GOOD TO YOU TODAY! TWO CHAPTERS! TWO!
> 
> This means that you have to be nice to me and leave lots of reviews mwaha telling me who your favourite character is and why, what your favourite quotes are and which chapter has been your favourite so far!
> 
> That would mean so much to me- thank you for all your lovely words!
> 
> This chapter is more of a comic relief one I guess, just highlighting some key relationships.
> 
> ENJOY!

When all four girls were done, they made their way down to the Great Hall. Lily hooked her arm through Hermione's, and they laughed loudly and freely at Marlene's terrible impersonation of Professor Slughorn.

It turned out that Remus, James and Peter were already there, helping themselves to some food. Mary immediately took the space next to Pete, who tried to hide his blush. Hermione sat between Remus and James, and (much to both their delights) Lily took the seat on his other side.

As soon as Remus glanced at her, his face cleared. She felt unnervingly uncomfortable, painfully aware of what she looked like, but all he did was stare at her. It looked like he wanted to say something.

Eventually, he licked his lips, looking away.

Peter gaped at her too, and his eyes widened. "You look beautiful, Mione!"

Her face went hot. "Thank you, Peter. I was the victim of one of Lily Evans' attacks this morning."

Lily let out a short burst of laughter, leaning forward to peer around James at her. "Oh don't even lie! You loved it!"

Hermione just beamed. Her gaze fell to the table and she couldn't help but notice the three half-drunk cups of teas in front of him.

She bit her lip to bite back a laugh. Hermione leaned closer to him. "Do you happen to like tea by any chance, James?"

He raised his eyebrows, looking at her in mock-surprise and exclaimed, "Why yes, Hermione! I do! However did you guess?"

Remus eyed the three cups, and shook his head. "Really, James? Three? The amount of sugar you put in one cup of tea is bad enough, never mind three."

"He had one this morning," Hermione contributed, sticking her tongue out at James, whose mouth had dropped open.

"Thanks for selling me out, Betrayer!" He said. "And you know, Remus, I really don't appreciate your tone."

Remus sighed, and retorted dryly, "You never do. It's often because I'm right."

"Is he often right?" Hermione asked James knowingly, who seemed to consider the question. He couldn't even bring himself to deny the fact that it was indeed true, and he nodded in defeat.

Hermione and Remus shared a triumphant grin.

They each savoured their breakfast and allowed the din of school chatter to wash over them. Marlene was marking shapes into her scrambled eggs, and James and Lily were having a surprisingly civil conversation.

It was at that moment that Sirius decided to grace them with his presence. He had bags under his eyes, but he still managed to look flawless and somehow pull off the half-dead look.

His eyes brushed over all of them, snagging on her. They locked eyes for a fraction of a second. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. There was something theatrical to the way he looked.

Flopping down onto the bench, he sighed loudly, not moving his face from his hands. Hermione glanced at James, and raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged and said carefully, "Sirius-?"

"I'm a saint, you know," Sirius announced. "I'm a living saint, and do you know what I get from it?"

"Nothing?" James guessed.

"I get absolutely nothing!"

Remus snorted into his hot chocolate, peering sideways at his friend over the rim of his mug, then glancing at Hermione. Marlene looked as if she'd swallowed something sour.

"Well," Hermione said, not exactly sure how to react to this. "You get a false feeling of superiority-"

Sirius moaned dramatically, "That is nice, but this time it is not enough!"

"And why exactly do you feel you are a saint?" James asked precariously, sucking his lips in.

Sirius peeked through the gaps in his fingers and said, "I've got the reasons alphabetised or in order of importance. Which would you prefer?"

James simply stared at him. The lines of his face and narrowed eyes made it impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Remus, please keep an eye on Sirius today. He's going to say something to the wrong person and get himself punched," he said tiredly.

Remus raised his eyebrows, head tilted in vague interest. "Sure, I'd love to see Sirius get punched."

James shot him a look and said, "Try again."

He sighed and repeated monotonously, "I will stop Sirius from getting punched."

Hermione let out a loud laugh and it poured from her lips at their antics. Remus quirked a single eyebrow at her.

Sirius pouted and said sulkily, "I do not need a babysitter."

"He's not a babysitter," James diffused smoothly. "He's a bodyguard."

Remus scoffed.

"I can fight my own battles!"

James winced. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. No. He's not there to fight your battles for you, but to ensure there are no battles being fought."

Sirius mulled this over. "So he's essentially my babysitter."

"Essentially," James confirmed cheerfully.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Remus, leaning her head closer to him and said, "Have fun."

He stared at her, his feelings about this predicament clear on his face. Then, he stood up, picking up his satchel from underneath the table and saying, "I'm going to class. I need to speak to McGonagall about the homework assignment. Come on Sirius."

Sirius groaned, but he clambered to his feet nevertheless, slamming his hand down on the table. He paused when he was standing beside Remus, looking at Hermione and said, "You coming with, Kitten?"

She licked her lips, staring at her empty plate. She never ate breakfast normally, but even as she moved to follow the boys, she grabbed an apple, taking a bite and winking at James.

The three of them made their way out of the Great Hall and up the many flights of stairs. Sirius had his hands in his pockets, effortlessly cool, as he strode beside Remus. They were so different. As Hermione walked beside them, she stole glances at them both.

Whilst Sirius was dark and brooding, Remus was a tall and impossibly tattered being. He was indescribable. Sirius was all black tones and stubble, all shadows and smirks, whereas Remus was… Remus. There was no way she could really explain it.

She walked in the middle of them, and Sirius casually threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him roughly. He dropped his cheek to rest on the top of her head for a moment, and his before-of-a-beard scratched her.

They reached McGonagall's classroom in no time, and Remus stopped and turned to look at them.

"Don't do anything stupid," he said.

Hermione frowned. "Why are you looking at me?"

A faint smile tilted his lips, and without another word, he disappeared inside, leaving the two of them in the corridor.

A few girls walking past, looking to be fifth-years, giggled when they saw Sirius, erupting into a chorus of whispers behind their hands. Hermione scoffed; they weren't exactly subtle about the whole affair, despite their attempts to be so.

Sirius smirked, and winked at them. Their giggling intensified.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and tried to ignore and battle down the flame of jealousy that ignited inside of her. A short laugh left her lips.

He looked at her. "What?"

She returned his gaze in exasperation. "What do you mean 'what'?"

"What are you laughing about?"

"You," she said.

"Me?" Sirius repeated, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, you."

"And pray tell, darling, what exactly about me do you find so amusing?"

"Those girls were clearly ogling you and vying for your attention, and you purposely led them on," Hermione said, her pompous tone perhaps giving away how she really felt. She pursed her lips, praying he hadn't noticed.

He had. Sirius asked, amused, "Is someone jealous?"

She didn't reply, merely shoved his arm off of her. His face dropped. "I was joking- Hermione, are you actually jealous?"

"No," she replied shortly, despite that fact that a) that was a complete and total lie, and b) yes, she was slightly jealous. Not that Sirius needed to know that. "You just shouldn't be leading them on. I am a girl, you know. We're sensitive."

Sirius stared at her.

"Unless you actually like one of them…" Hermione continued unsurely, avoiding his gaze.

"My heart belongs to someone else," he said, and she forced herself to look at him.

"Oh? And who's the lucky someone?"

"Unfortunately, my one and only true love is and always has been myself," Sirius said, and his face split into a grin as he pulled her into a bear hug. Hermione allowed herself to smile, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"That is tragic," she laughed.

"Darling," Sirius began. "If I could run down the beach into my own arms, I would."

They broke apart when Remus slipped through the door, hair mussed up as he had clearly been running his hands through it and he raised an eyebrow at them. "I leave you alone for one minute, and I can't tell whether you're hugging or trying to strangle one another."

"We were hugging!" Sirius clarified, as he plucked her apple out of her hand and bit into it.

Hermione scowled at him. "Don't speak too soon, Black."

The bell chimed, signalling first class and she jumped, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand. Remus noticed.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, faltering. She plastered on a smile. "I'm in History of Magic! I'm going to have to run!"

And she started walking away, a defiant spark in every step. Pausing, she turned around and stared at them both for a second. Then, she ran back to them, throwing her arms around both of their necks and pulling them into a group hug.

"Don't be an idiot," Hermione muttered to Sirius. He huffed a laugh, putting one arm around her waist.

"Thanks sweetheart."

"Don't let him be an idiot," she said to Remus. He saluted her as she pulled away, turning back around and striding down the corridor.

Hermione only looked back once.

They both stared after her, before Remus nudged Sirius and they started walking in the opposite direction to Divination.

They were in no hurry to get to class, as Divination wasn't exactly their favourite lesson and the teacher was certifiably blind or deaf or both. It was as they rounded the next corner, in relative silence, that they both froze in their tracks.

The scene that greeted them chilled Remus to his bones and dread seeped through him.

Lucius Malfoy had a Hufflepuff second-year hanging upside down. The poor boy's face was slowly tinging red, as the blood dribbled to his head. His legs were straining to kick and his arms were trying to drag himself upright, but it was futile. The blonde prick's magic was too strong.

"Tired of picking on people your own size, you colossal bastard?" Sirius spat, starting forward to intervene. Remus firmly planted his hand on his friend's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Malfoy elegantly craned his neck to look at them. It was then, as he stepped back and the second-year was rotated around, that another person came into view. Sirius' face turned pale.

Regulus didn't seem eager about the whole ordeal and his cheeks went hollow when he caught sight of his brother. He seemed even more affected when his eyes snagged on Remus' hand on Sirius' shoulder.

Malfoy's lip curled. "What do you want, Black? Or should I call you Blood Traitor?"

"Oh please," Sirius snarled. "I'd much rather be a Blood Traitor than be associated with that fucking family."

He adamantly avoided looking at his brother.

Malfoy's face twisted as he hissed, "You should be proud to be a part of that family. You should be proud of the purity running through your veins, you ungrateful disgrace!" Then he added, "Why can't you be more like your brother?"

Remus and Sirius both halted. Remus' eyes narrowed on Malfoy, and he retracted his grip on Sirius' shoulder.

A good friend stopped you from killing someone. A brother knew when to let you kill a bitch.

And Sirius leapt forward, his hands immediately lifting Malfoy up by the scuff of his uniform, and pinning him against the wall. Remus quickly let the second-year down, and the small boy fled from the corridor.

Malfoy's face went even whiter and he looked murderous. Sirius leaned in so their noses were inches away. He bared his teeth and his breath fanned over Malfoy. His voice was low and deadly as he growled, "Don't. You. Dare. Talk about my brother. Don't you act like you know him."

Remus stood back and watched it unfold with a blank face. He glanced at Regulus and said softly, "Why don't you get to class?"

The younger Black regarded him with wide eyes. He looked so much like Sirius.

Malfoy said loudly, "Don't even think about running away, Black!"

Sirius rammed him into the wall. Harder, this time. "He is not yours!"

Remus raised his chin, sensing the shift in his friend's demeanour. He moved forward, gently pulling Sirius away. It looked as if he wanted to shrug off his hand, but eventually he conceded. Malfoy spat on the floor, shooting a dark look of contempt at the Gryffindors.

Sirius and Remus paused, heads tilting ever so slightly to the side. Although no one else could hear it, they detected a faint humming, accompanied with footsteps slowly but surely making their way towards where the four boys were. Their canine hearing really did come in handy.

Swirling around, Sirius' eyes were wide and eager, and he said, "Punch me in the face."

Remus stared at him.

"Punch you?"

Sirius sighed, hurriedly confirming, "Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear "punch me in the face" when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext," Remus replied dryly. Nevertheless, he pulled back his hand, wincing. He paused and added, "I really don't see how this is going to improve the situation-"

"Remus!"

Remus swung his arm forward, and his knuckles collided with Sirius' cheekbone. The latter was propelled backwards, his hair whipping across his face. He looked up, eyes incredulous, and then glanced at the end of the corridor, where he could hear the jovial whistles of the Potions Master. Sure enough, Slughorn strolled around the corner and Sirius let out a wail, clutching his face.

"I can't believe you hit me!" He cried, glaring at Malfoy, feigned shock painting his expression.

"Mr Black? Mr Malfoy?" Slughorn boomed. "What is the meaning of this?"

All heads whipped to look at their teacher, who was trying to advance quickly but ended up looking like a bustling walrus. His cape was flapping behind him and his face was dangerously pink.

Malfoy's face was priceless. He turned back around and pointed at the two Gryffindor's. "I- We didn't do anything! Lupin punched him! I swear-"

"And why would Mr Lupin do that?" Slughorn asked coolly. Remus rubbed his bruising knuckles behind his back, feeling vindictively pleased with himself. Malfoy didn't even have time to reply. "Oh, enough of this! I have somewhere to be! Detention, Mr Malfoy! For being an embarrassment to my house!"

Regulus merely stood there, lips sealed tightly shut, and he almost blended into the wall. Slughorn continued on, fuming and proclaiming loudly as he went. "Picking fights in the corridors! Dear Merlin! I cannot believe I have to deal with this so early in a morning!"

As soon as he disappeared, Sirius smiled. Remus bit back a chuckle at Malfoy's furious face.

He pointed a finger. "I'll get you, Black! Mark my words! I'll get you!"

Later that day, when school had finished, the Marauders and Hermione all returned to the Common Room. James and Hermione, having been in the same room last lesson, had already taken over the large settee near the fire, and Peter had just joined them.

They were all deep in conversation about the importance of phoenix feathers when the portrait hole burst open, rendering them silent.

"It wasn't my fault," Remus said immediately, as soon as he entered.

Hermione frowned at him. "What wasn't your fault?"

Her answer came in the form of a battered Sirius Black, the skin of his cheekbone blossoming in a purple bruise. Sirius ignored her question (an answer wasn't really necessary) and instead said indignantly, "It was entirely your fault!"

Remus stopped walking and whipped around. "You told me to!"

"If I'd told you to jump off the Astronomy Tower, would you?"

He gaped, mouthing unintelligible words. "W- I- That is completely different!"

James looked at Hermione, who seemed just as perplexed as he was unamused. "What are we talking about here?"

The two boys glanced at him. Sirius pointed an accusatory finger. "Remus punched me!"

"You told me to!"

James' face turned incredulous. "You punched him!? What did I say? What did I specifically say?!"

"He told me to!"

"And that makes it okay?" James asked. He gestured wildly. "It's Sirius! He's certifiably insane!"

"Wow. Not only does my face hurt, now we're attacking my heart."

"Boys!" Hermione raised her voice, and she tried to keep a straight face, although her amusement was bubbling. "Why don't you sit down and explain what happened?"

"He punched me," Sirius said glumly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I gathered that much, Sirius. Now what really happened?"

Remus moved to collapse in the armchair, whilst Sirius pushed James out of the way to sit between him and Hermione. He let his head flop onto her shoulder as soon as his backside touched the cushion.

Remus opened his mouth to explain, when he caught Sirius' eye. He looked so much younger in that moment, and unbelievably ragged, like he was worn down to the very frays of himself. With Sirius, everyone, including Remus, seemed to forget how young he actually was, how vulnerable and broken and crumbling he was. His façade was something that barely cracked, and it was only in snatches like these did Sirius let his guard down.

"Nothing major," he lied, and he locked eyes with him. "Just ran into some Slytherins."

"So you punched him?" Peter asked.

Hermione had a nagging feeling that there was more to the story than they were letting on, but she didn't push. She could feel Sirius' dawdling energy. Whatever had happened had clearly taken its toll on him. James must've been thinking the same thing, for he, too, remained silent.

"I can't believe you punched me," Sirius said suddenly, eliciting a groan from Peter who surveyed them all in exasperation.

Remus threw his arms up. "You told me to!"

"Yes," Sirius admitted, and he sulkily reached up to pet his bruised cheek. "But I didn't think it would hurt that much…"

"Well think of it this way," Hermione said, trying to bite back a smile. "At least now, you look badass."

He scoffed. "Please, I always looked badass."

James exchanged a look with Pete, whose eyebrows had pulled into an incredulous frown. For all of his minimalist approaches to life, Peter sure did have some extreme facial expressions.

Hermione threaded her hands through his hair. "I always thought you looked like a puppy."

Sirius jolted up, blatant offence written across his lovely face. His mouth was open. "I am not a puppy! I am a very dangerous hoodlum with a passion for pranks, women and motorcycles! There is nothing even remotely puppyish about that-!"

"Oh alright Snuffles, we get the idea!" Hermione laughed, and Remus snorted at the name. Peter squeaked in surprise and James guffawed uncontrollably.

"Snuffles?!" Sirius repeated in a high-pitched voice. And it was only then that Hermione had realised what she had called him, and her heart leapt into her throat, and her laughter died on her lips.

She wondered whether this was just as a result of her being from the future… Or whether it was actually a result of her being in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Okay? I hope so!
> 
> Remember to let me know about your favourite bit so far; fave characters, fave chapters, fave relationship, face quotes! I can't believe it's 20 chapters! It feels like only yesterday since I started writing this, and the end is nowhere in sight!
> 
> Have a good day! Thank youu for your support!


	21. Chapter 21- The Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m just going clarify here because a few of you were wondering: Snuffles is the name that Sirius has Harry, Hermione and Ron call him in Goblet of Fire, I think… The idea here is did Sirius introduce it to Hermione (in the real version) or was it Hermione who introduced it to him (in the past) and he asked them to call it him in the future because of that…?
> 
> Huh, time travel is soo tricky!! The point is: Hermione is going to start realising that even the smallest imprints of her presence in the past could influence the future greatly- and there will be a few connections between the past and the future, leading her to wonder whether things are predetermined. 
> 
> Also... this is a long-awaited chapter.. it may not be the one you were hoping for, but this is Chapter TWENTY ONE!! This is the furthest I've ever gotten with any story!! I'm just proud!! Woo! It's all thanks to you guys! Your reviews keep me on track!
> 
> Anyway, there is reason behind this madness... I'll give you a little hint... think of Remus... think of a very specific characteristic Remus has...
> 
> AH! IVE SAID TOO MUCH!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!! REMEMBER TO REVIEW MY LOVELIES! I WILL TRY TO UPDATE SOON (PROMISE!) BUT ONLY IF YOU REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE! I WILL HOUND YOU IF YOU DO NOT!

Chapter 21- The Kiss

 

The next few days passed in a flurry of homework, laughter and blissful freedom for Hermione, and Friday night crept up on them all too quickly. The students were buzzing with the promise of snow that sung from the perpetually grey skies, and frosty air, and the weekly Hogsmeade day had the older years, especially, jittery with excitement.

 

They were all sat in the library, as Peter helped James with his History of Magic assignment. Sirius had his feet up on Hermione’s lap, his head hanging off the top of the chair, with his eyes closed, while she read. Remus sat on the chair beside her, eyes rigidly alert, and his fingers drummed anxiously on the table.

 

Hermione’s eyes flicked to Sirius’ face. His cheek was still coloured an ugly purple, contrasting from the smooth tanned glow of the rest of his face. She lifted her hand, ghosting the tips of her fingers over his bruise, tracing the outline.

 

His hand reached up and, without opening his eyes, Sirius interlocked his fingers with hers, keeping them on his face. Hermione just watched him. He looked so content, so peaceful, and she could feel every flutter of his eyelashes and twinge of the muscles in his jaw. His fingers were warm in hers.

 

She coughed, pulling her hand away, and diverting her gaze. James’ eyes stared right through her.

 

Abruptly, Remus sighed, frustration emanating from him, and he dropped his arm on the table. In the same moment, he rested his head on his elbow, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was restless, but Hermione didn’t know why. She’d noticed it before now; the dark circles under his eyes, the pallid drawn skin of his face. He seemed tired, more so than usual; she didn’t know what to do.

 

“This bruise ruins my whole flawless complexion,” Sirius announced. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. There was silence, and Hermione exchanged a bemused look with James. “No, it doesn’t. You’re still perfect, Sirius… I very much am fishing for compliments. I’m just waiting for the hook to pick some up.”

 

Peter’s face split into an amused grin and he repeated, “No, it doesn’t. You’re still perfect, Sirius.”

 

“Why, thank you, Pete!” He said, opening his eyes finally and fixing Peter with an appreciative look.

 

Hermione shook her head. “I have never met anyone in my lifetime who is half as conceited as you.”

 

But even as she said it, a certain Slytherin with platinum blonde hair and a constantly curled lip flashed before her mind’s eye. In the next second, he was falling to the floor.

 

She shook her head.

 

Sirius pretended to be offended, clutching his chest as though he’d been stabbed through the heart. A high wheezing noise poured from his lips and he clenched his eyes in imaginary pain. She just raised an eyebrow, pushing his legs off of her lap.

 

He sobered quickly at that and said conversationally, “Kitten. I have been told, by multiple sources, that I am the eighth wonder of the world.”

 

Hermione snorted.

 

“You may laugh, but feel free to admire me. I am told I am a beauty to look upon!”

 

“Yes,” James agreed, and Sirius preened in delight. “But you’re not the sharpest needle of the pile.”

 

Sirius stared at him, and said, deadpanned, “You sound exactly like your mother.”

 

James scowled, and leaned across the table to prod his best friend in the bruise. And hard if the noise he made was anything to go by for Sirius let out an almighty wail, eliciting a scolding from the librarian, who rolled her eyes when she caught sight of the culprit. He looked at Remus and said, rubbing his injury, “We should work on not listening to the first idea that pops into our heads in a sticky situation.”

 

Remus raised an eyebrow and said pointedly, “Maybe we should work on the fact that you go in fists flying when things don’t go your way.”

 

He frowned, pouting slightly, and said, “I don’t go in ‘fists flying’.”

 

“You shoved Malfoy against the wall!” Remus said, almost in disbelief.

 

James’ head shot up at this. “Malfoy?” He looked at Sirius. Hermione felt sick. “You never said anything about Malfoy.”

 

It’s not Draco. It’s not Draco.

 

Sirius looked back at him. “You never asked.”

 

James’ eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed very cautious very quickly. He redirected his gaze to Remus, who simply stared back. Then he sighed.

 

“I wish you would tell me,” he said, almost painfully. Hermione felt like she was intruding, watching something she wasn’t meant to see. “I wish you would tell me when-”

 

“When what, James?” Remus exploded. “When that blonde prick decides to confront us? It happens often enough. We don’t need you to fight our battles!”

 

He was breathing heavily, and Hermione stared at him. She had never seen this side of him, and all at once, she was struck with the realisation that the Remus Lupin she knew, intelligent and laidback, might not be all there was to him; that she may not know him at all. He seemed to realise that he had overreacted, however, as he stood up slowly, pushing his hair back, and said, “I’m sorry.”

 

James, who was white, simply said, shaking his head, “Remus, you don’t need to apologise-”

 

“Yes, I do-”

 

“No,” James said firmly. “You don’t.”

 

They both stared at each other; James’ hazel eyes solid and unwavering, and they bored into Remus with an indescribable intensity.

 

He looked away and, without a second glance back at any of them, left the library.

 

Hermione stood up immediately to follow him.

 

“Don’t,” Sirius said, eyes lazily watching her. She looked at him for a brief moment, before picking up her bag and leaving to pursue him.

 

It didn’t take her long to find him. There were only a few places she assumed he might be, and she decided to check the one she suspected he would be in. She was right.

 

Hermione knocked on the door of the empty classroom. When there was no answer, she opened it, peering inside.

 

Just like last time, the room was bathed in the glow of fairy lights, and, sure enough, there sat Remus. His back was to her, and he was just staring at the model in front of him. He was so still, that she was unsure whether or not he was actually breathing.

 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Hermione asked gently.

 

He didn’t reply, so she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her and made her way to sit beside him. “Remus?”

 

“What were they like?” Remus asked quietly. His voice was rough and hushed.

 

“Who?”

 

“Harry and Ron. Your friends from the future.”

 

Hermione was momentarily thrown off guard. She pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself and resting her chin on the tops of her knees. She chewed on her bottom lip, ignoring the pain flaring there.

 

Remus sighed and said, “You don’t have to talk about them, if you don’t want.”

 

She shook her head, throat blocked. “No- no, it’s fine.”

 

But where to begin? There was so much to talk about. Clearing her throat shakily, she said, “Harry was… just like James. He was kind and selfless. God, he was the nicest person I knew. He cared about everyone, and he was so smart but so stupid sometimes! Honestly! That boy was blind to everything! He wouldn’t even know if a girl was flirting with him, even if she had it tattooed across her face!” Hermione let out a loud laugh, remembering their sixth year, when Romilda Vane had tried to smuggle him a love potion. “But he was also hot-headed and angry a lot. It was quite scary, how much anguish there was locked inside of him. And after it all, you would’ve thought he’d turn out bitter... But Harry was the bravest and kindest man. He was just like James…”

 

Remus had a small smile threatening to pull his lips.

 

“Ron,” she said and her heart throbbed uncertainly at his name. “Well, Ron was hilarious. He was gormless, impossibly so! And he seemed to have foot in mouth disease, always insulting me and saying the wrong things… but he also complimented me a lot. Without realising it, of course. He was loyal to a fault and I- I loved him so much… I’ve never loved anyone like I loved Ron…”

 

Remus had turned his head to watch her, and she hadn’t even realised she’d been crying. She reached up to wipe the tears away.

 

“It’s not like talking about them will make them come back,” she told him sadly, trying to offer him a watery smile.

 

“No,” he answered, “but maybe it can make you come back.”

 

Hermione stared at him. “Make me come back?”

 

He smiled briefly, but it was blank and unfeeling. “You disappear sometimes. I don’t think you realise it. It’s like you go somewhere that no one else can follow you. Sometimes it’s like you’re not really here at all.”

 

“I didn’t know…”

 

“No,” Remus offered her a half-smile. “I don’t mind, and I don’t think anyone else has noticed. You just wander off.”

 

Hermione stared at the mini parapets of the miniature Hogwarts and her mind became entranced by it. She was overwhelmed by the pain that derived from every single wall and tower; of both the model and the real thing. These walls seeped blood, these floors had felt the consequences of war; of the many bodies that slumped into nonexistence. Remus nudged her shoulder gently, chuckling, and Hermione realised she was doing it now.

 

“Sorry,” she said.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

Then his face grew solemn and he looked at her. “Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes,” Remus said, his eyes dark. “Being here all by yourself?”

 

Hermione opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. Since being here, whilst she had been told repeatedly that the boys were there for her, she had never had time to truly ponder how she felt.

 

But she knew, now, that something inside of her had stamped that down. For so long, Hermione had supressed thinking about herself; it was always about the future, about the Marauders, about Harry and Ron, and Draco… She had focused on what she was going to do now she was here, but she had never stopped to think about the loneliness that ate at her heart.

 

She realised she hadn’t said anything, and her lips parted but instead of words coming out, a sob left her instead. Her eyes became wet again, and she wasn’t sure why she was crying, but she supposed she was lonely. Hermione was stuck in the past, for crying out loud! She was stranded in a world entirely different to her own; one where she wouldn’t ever see her parents or friends ever again…

 

Hermione wouldn’t see Harry or Ron ever again…

 

She would never be able to see Harry’s smile, or the crinkles by Ron’s blue eyes when he grinned. She would never be able to cheer for both of them on the side-lines of the Quidditch pitch, or throw her arms around both of them when she was proud of them. She would never kiss Ron, or lose count of his freckles. She would never dance with Harry, laughing and free. She would never venture down to Hogsmeade, wrapped up warm to tackle the snow, or conquer them at infamous snowball fights. She would never cuddle up to either of them to keep warm on a winter’s night, or hear their voices.

 

She would never see them ever again.

 

Remus shuffled closer (as if that was possible) and pulled her into a tight embrace. One hand was wrapped around her waist, and the other came up to cradle the back of her head. She cried onto his shoulder.

 

And then, she felt him moving away, felt his hand sliding around to cup her cheek.

 

And his breath was hot on her face.

 

And she kept her eyes closed

 

And both of their hearts were erratic and wild.

 

And his lips met hers.

 

Her lips were wet and his were dry and the kiss tasted of tears and broken pieces. It was her bottom lip captured between both of his, and he devoured her mouth with the hunger of a starved man, flicking his tongue to taste her sadness. His tongue traced over every crack in her lips, soft and smooth, before she opened her mouth a little, and it explored her. His teeth pulled on her lip. Their bodies were close, unbelievably close, so that not a whisper of air could escape between them, and their noses bumped, and Hermione could feel his heartbeat, the thrum of his life, reverberate through her own chest.

 

It was like consuming life itself, and the burst of emotion washed over her, bathing her in a light-headedness that had her gasping for breath.

 

And still, Remus kissed her. Like his life depended on it. He kissed her softly, then desperately, then held her face in both of his hands and kissed her like the earth would shatter if he didn’t.

 

Hermione had never felt so much before.

 

And then he was pulling away, and still her eyes were closed. She couldn’t bear to open them.

 

Their faces remained mere inches away, and every one of his deep inhalations tickled her. He licked his lips and said unsurely, “I’m sorry.”

 

Now, she opened her eyes. “What for?”

 

A dark blush tinged his cheeks. “For kissing you. Without asking. I didn’t mean to- you were upset and I took advantage of that, I’m sorry.”

 

“Remus… Don’t be sorry

 

She reached up, her fingers lightly resting on his jaw, and kissed him one last time on the lips, slowly and sweetly, before pulling away. 

 

“Can you remember the first time we came here?” Hermione murmured.

 

Remus surveyed her quietly.

 

“I told you that it hurt, when you acted like you knew me,” she continued and her lungs felt like they were on fire with the urge to kiss him again, but she couldn’t. “I didn’t mean it.”

 

He tilted his head. “What did you mean, then?”

 

She hesitated. “I meant that I love you. All of you. I’m so invested in you and Sirius and James and Peter, and I’m not sure why or how or whether or not I should be accepting it or running from it. But I am so invested in you. Because I know you… And yet, you don’t know me.”

 

“Then let me know you,” Remus pleaded, swallowing.

 

Hermione smiled faintly, and her shoulder gave raised a small half-shrug. “I wish it was that simple.”

 

She looked away, wishing she could explain how unfair and hurtful it was that she knew what happened to them. She could see them dying and she wished she could stop it, but she wasn’t sure if that was even possible. Hermione was dancing with ghosts, kissing them.

 

“What happened to them?”

 

She turned to him. “What?”

 

“Harry and Ron,” Remus elaborated. He avoided her gaze. His cheeks were still flushed and his lips were red. “What happened to them?”

 

*Those blue eyes widening one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within.*

 

“Hermione?”

 

*“THE CHOSEN ONE… IS DEAD!”*

 

She jolted into reality.

 

“They’re dead.”

 

Those two words left her feeling numb and hollow, and after a few seconds of stillness, she climbed to her feet, running a hand through her hair. “Are you coming? The boys will be waiting for you.”

 

Remus didn’t stand up straight away, but eventually, he sighed and got up, following her out of the room. The corridors were rather quiet and vacant, as curfew was readily approaching and the two of them walked side by side, their fingers brushing but not quite catching.

 

They reached the Portrait Hole far too soon.

 

Just as she was about to say the password, Remus reached out for her arm. “Hermione…”

 

She looked at him expectantly, and the words seemed to die on his lips, fading away. He opened and closed his mouth before he stopped, and tried to compose himself.

 

Then, Remus took out his wand, casting a quick spell, and a white dandelion, wispy and large, magically appeared out of nowhere. He felt the stem gently, and offered it to her.

 

Hermione regarded it, trying to bite back a smile. “You do know that’s a weed, right?”

 

He turned pink, all the way up to his ears. “It’s a dandelion,” Remus explained. She kept her eyes on his. “So that you have a free wish. It’s been conjured so that only you can blow the wings of it.”

 

She couldn’t take her eyes off of his, despite the sudden feeling that she was going to cry again. Hermione took it softly from him, her hand ghosting over his and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. She lingered.

 

“Goodnight Remus,” she whispered.

 

Before disappearing through the Portrait Hole, leaving him outside in the shadows.

 

“Goodnight Hermione,” he whispered back.

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

She laid in bed that night, letting the sliver of moonlight bathe her and one vivid thought shot across her mind, rendering her momentarily horrified.

 

I just kissed Professor Lupin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo? How much do you hate me?!!
> 
> Bet you were all thinking it was going to be Sirius x Hermione. THAT IS STILL A POSSIBILITY! Like I said at the start of this chapter, there is a very specific reason behind Remus' desperate, almost 'animalistic' (if that was a word) behaviour... which will be revealed in the next two chapters (probably not the next one, but the one after).
> 
> Now! Please please please review! Honestly, I understand if you don't have an account or just can't be bothered, but they do mean the world to me! Thank you so much for all the support and reviews so far- you're all exceptionally lovely human beans!
> 
> Remember to comment what you want to see happen! Or what you especially liked etc. 
> 
> SENDING LOTS OF LOVE YOUR WAY,


	22. Chapter 22- The Sweet and the Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii guysss!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! And kudos to you if you noticed the sneaky Sherlock snippet that I (stole) borrowed a few chapters back! I saw some of you did!
> 
> Sorry this chapter has been a long time coming, and I've been writing it, but I kind of froze with this horrible case of Writer's Block (I was so agitated! I just drew up blank!) But now I successfully wrote it and I'm rather proud of Peter in this (HE'S SO CUTE!).
> 
> I've received a lot of feedback about Peter, because I'm actually including him and trying to give him a personality that is likable!! As opposed to the sniveling side character he is often portrayed as. I've very much based his character off Noah Czerny, who is out of The Raven Cycle (which I highly recommend by the way). If you have read it, then I've tried to reflect that childlike innocence, that constant worry, that subdued yet comfortable quietness he possesses. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Sending lots of love your way,
> 
> Everliah

Chapter 22- The Sweet and the Sour

 

 

Remus woke up the next morning, and his head was strangely quiet.

 

Normally, there would be static, or chaos or the impenetrable influence of a monster. Now, there was nothing. And Remus felt a slight wave of relief wash over him.

 

He reached up to touch his lips, and his face grew hot. He remembered the warmth of Hermione’s breath, and the feeling of her mouth on his. He could almost feel the ghost of her body, flittingly touching him.

 

Remus cleared his throat, and sat up quickly.

 

Everyone else, it seemed, was awake and rearing to go. Hogsmeade incited a sort of childlike eagerness in all of the students eligible to go, and as Remus squinted his eyes against the bright light streaming in from outside, he noticed the whiteness the window depicted.

 

It had snowed overnight, just as promised, and Hogwarts was wrapped up in a blanket of thick, untouched snow. Remus could not deny the slight twinge of contentment that shot through him at the sight of it.

 

“JAMES!” Sirius shrieked suddenly, and Remus’ head snapped to frown in the general direction of the scream. “There is a goddamn spider in the bathroom! AND I THINK IT HAS A GUN!”

 

He collapsed back on his bed for a fraction of a second, before throwing back the covers and dragging himself up. He raised an eyebrow, running his fingers through his hair. “Guns are what muggles use to fight. How do you know about them?”

 

Sirius huffed indignantly, and the sound was dramatic enough that it carried out into the room. “Please, Remus. I’m a Pureblood, not an idiot.”

 

“And here,” Remus replied sarcastically. “I thought those were the same thing!”

 

“Hey!” James cried.

 

He had armed himself with a pillow, his Potions book (it was quite a hefty volume) and his wand. All to go up against a spider.

 

Remus just stared at him. “My point still stands.”

 

Peter, who was sitting on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest, grinned.

 

James valiantly made his way into the bathroom, and there was a distinct lack of commotion, which prompted Remus to investigate.

 

He walked over, standing by the door, and what he saw made him roll his eyes. Both Sirius and James were sat, with the legs tucked up, on the sink countertop, terrified eyes locked on the spider on the other corner of the bathroom.

 

They looked at him with wide eyes. Peter poked his head around the doorframe, and cracked out laughing at how pathetic his friends were. Remus just sighed, and then a wicked idea presented itself.

 

“Engorgio,” he said, flicking his wand before he walked back to his bed to get dressed. In his wake, were both James’ and Sirius’ horrified screeches and Peter’s howling laughter.

 

He picked out his dad’s old sweater (Sirius would groan that he practically lived in it, despite the fact that he wore it more than Remus) and some jeans, and his coat and scarf. Judging by the freezing of his toes, if it was this cold inside, he couldn’t imagine how he would cope outside.

 

Remus stretched his neck, closing his eyes briefly. His skin felt itchy, like it was too tight for his body, and he wanted to scratch it, tear it from his bones. He flexed his fingers.

 

A knock at the door wrenched him from his mind.

 

Hermione’s voice floated through, “Please tell me you’re decent.”

 

Peter managed to shout a breathless, “Yes.”

 

The door opened, and she walked in. Remus turned to look at her, and he froze.

 

She was wearing a cream satin blouse, which was tucked into a knee-length brown skirt, printed with large sunflowers and thick brown tights. She clicked as she walked; her brown brogue heels tapped rhythmically. Her hair was curled and pinned back from her face. She was smiling.

 

Remus felt his cheeks set on fire, and he had to look away.

 

Hermione frowned, as whimpers and the occasional scream reached her ears. She moved towards the bathroom, peering into it, and she had to reach up to cover her mouth.

 

James and Sirius were still cowering by the sink, clinging onto each other and she raised an eyebrow in question. In reply, they pointed to the spider.

 

It was still growing by the second, evidence of the potency of Remus’ magic. Now, it was about the size of an A4 piece of paper, with long spindly legs that remained frozen in its position. Eight eyes, beady and pointed, were fixed on James and Sirius.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh my.”

 

She raised her wand and hastily muttered the counter curse, cringing as the spider shrank back to its original size (which wasn’t actually that big). She then hurried over, scooping it into her hands.

 

A mischievous impulse flew through her, and Hermione glanced at the two boys, who looked a little less tense. She crept closer to them, hands cupped around the insect.

 

James watched her wearily.

 

She threw it on them.

 

Or pretended to… But they didn’t need to know that.

 

The effect was instantaneous, and Sirius screeched, so loudly that Peter came rushing to the doorway to see what was going on. He doubled over almost immediately, clutching his stomach and guffawing. James leapt away from Sirius, alert eyes scanning every square inch of the bathroom to try and locate the spider.

 

Sirius flapped his arms up, messing up his hair. “It’s in my hair! Get it off! Get it off me! Not my hair.”

 

This wail continued, and his face contorted, and he closed his eyes. Hermione laughed at them, throwing an arm around Peter to support herself.

 

James edged unwillingly closer to his friend, distaste palpable on his face. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to try and find it, without having to get too close. But it was futile. He winced, taking a step forward.

 

It was at that moment, that Sirius shook his head vigorously, adamantly attempting to shake himself of the spider that wasn’t actually there. James let out a girly, high-pitched sound, jumping backwards as though he’d seen a ghost. The horror in his eyes was enough to set the sobering Peter and Hermione, into another fit of hysterical laughter.

 

“Why would you do that?!” He demanded incredulously.

 

Sirius pointed at her, “Hermione! Find this spider at once!”

 

She gasped for breath, wiping her eyes and said, “Oh! There is no spider! I put it outside whilst you were busy screaming like little girls!”

 

They both paused. The only noise was Peter, who still found the situation incredibly amusing.

 

James straightened his glasses, looking at her expectantly as though he had misheard her.

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

Hermione bit her lip. “I put it on the window pane outside,” she said, indicating the small bathroom window behind them.

 

Sirius swallowed, suddenly composed. He flattened his hair, and offered her a stunning smile. “We knew that.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

 

“We did,” James assured, moving to put his arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “It was a test.”

 

“A test?”

 

“Yes. We were testing you. On how good a friend you were,” James continued. “You failed by the way.”

 

Hermione laughed, shaking her head at their antics, and she turned her back on them to sit on the end of Peter’s bed. Remus refused to look at her, and he shuffled with something on his bed to distract himself.

 

She noticed the book sitting on the bedside table, and reached for it curiously.

 

“The Tales of Wizards and Knights,” she read quietly, turning it over to see the blurb.

 

It wasn’t one she was familiar with; the book was a Muggle fictional piece, by some author with a double barrelled name that no doubt sounded as ridiculous as it was spelt.

 

“It’s really good,” Peter offered. He seemed quiet and bashful. Hermione looked at him. “You can borrow it sometime if you want.”

 

He appeared even skinnier today, which of course made his face sallower and his ears even more obvious, regardless of the old hat he was wearing. There was something about his mousiness, she thought, that made him slightly endearing. A little like a puppy, all soft edges and mild nature, all droopy and harmless.

 

She nodded, smiling at him.

 

Both James and Sirius resumed getting ready, and within five minutes, they were all rearing to go. They made their way out of the Common Room and through the draughty corridors of the castle, chatting merrily, slowing down only when they made it outside.

 

Sirius hopped from one foot to the other, Cheshire grin growing wider and wider on his face.

 

"Does he ever stop bouncing?" Hermione asked Peter in exasperation.

 

He sniggered, wrinkling his nose and said matter-of-factly, "No. He runs on pure excitement."

 

They both watched him, and his shoulders jittered; Sirius' entire body seemed to be shaking with an adrenaline for life. Hermione raised an eyebrow, as he jumped on James' back. The taller boy huffed at the additional weight, spinning round in circles.

 

"I've noticed," she said dryly. Peter laughed at her, throwing his head onto her shoulder. Momentarily surprised, she froze at this undulated display of affection.

 

When it came to Peter, she had come to realise that where the other three were full to the brim of opinions and individuality, of everything that made them James and Sirius and Remus, Peter was half empty. He was a ghost, a flicker in the shadows of his friends. It was very rare for him to venture any further out of himself than one impartial comment every now and then.

 

So Hermione smiled, flopping her head down onto the top of his. Peter seemed to still, before he melted into her completely.

 

Maybe this was all he ever needed; someone to love and love him back.

 

The wind whipped their faces, picking up their scarves and ripping them away. Hermione’s hair was ravaged, and her cheeks were bitten by the frost so much so that they turned pink. She had to squint her eyes to see.

 

The boys weren’t fairing much better. James had to hold his glasses on his face, which was scrunched up. Remus had his head down. Sirius was spluttering, expression shrewd as he tried to protect his eyes from the ferocity of the wind. Peter looked like he was about to be blown away.

 

“Even if it’s temporary, it’d be nice to feel weather that didn’t make you feel so cold inside and out,” Hermione said, having to raise her voice to be heard, and she rubbed her small gloved hands up and down her arms, over the top of her thick coat. Her words entered the world in small globes of white, stilling in the air.

 

Remus wanted to go over to her and hug her to warm her up. Merlin knows he was warm enough. His body temperature was fluctuating almost painfully, and his skin raged from boiling hot, to the point where he was sweating, to freezing cold, in seconds. He shoved his fists into his pockets.

 

Sirius did though. He moved closer to her, laughing, and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her shoulders to try and warm her up. They walked quickly, making their way down the snow covered Hogwarts grounds, and onto the path that led down to Hogsmeade. He had large hands and his smile was enough to ignite a fire inside of her.

 

“Okay, but we totally have the next few matches in the bag!” James said, triumph dripping from every syllable. Hermione laughed.

 

“That’s very sure of yourself!”

 

“Kitten,” Sirius said. He was still close to her, and she savoured the warmth he provided. It was like he radiated heat, and she clung to him. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look at Remus. “We are the best team Hogwarts has ever seen!”

 

She scoffed. Peter grinned at them.

 

“No, seriously darling, you may scoff, but count yourself lucky you were sorted into Gryffindor. Imagine if you were in Hufflepuff! They can’t play for shit!”

 

Hermione swatted him, and he nuzzled his nose into her hair, smiling.

 

James jumped on enthusiastically, counting the players off on his fingers, “We’ve got Frank Longbottom, giant of a guy, about six foot two, as our Keeper; he looks like one of those huge teddy bears that Muggles sell. Newton Lee is our Seeker, new to the team but a good flyer. Then there’s Lantrick Donner, fifth year, and Torple Mayborn, sixth, who are our Chasers-”

 

“And our awesome and legendary Quidditch captain, James Fleamont Potter!”

 

Hermione burst out laughing, digging her face into Sirius’ arm to try and muffle the sound, but she couldn’t help herself. Even Remus, who had previously been distant and quiet, shot them all an amused glance.

 

“Fleamont?”

 

James pursed his lips and said, “Ha ha. Yes, I know. My name is unfortunate. But at least it’s only my middle name! Think of my grandfather!”

 

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Poor bloke.”

 

“Anyway, then we’ve got Marls, who you know, obviously, and this tosser as our Beaters,” James said, clapping Sirius on the back.

 

He frowned, unsure what to think of this, but settled with punching his friend in the arm. They arrived at the little village, and immediately sought refuge, laughter pouring from their lips, from the harsh winter weather inside the nearest shop.

 

The sweet shop was a small, quaint space painted in a plethora of bright colours; bubblegum blues and candy floss pinks. The smell was also divine, sweet and sugary, and Hermione found herself smiling at the explosive atmosphere that came as a result of children and sugar being forced together.

 

Her eyes trailed from the huge midnight blue display of Chocolate Frogs (advertising the new limited addition card of Andretta Anglesteen- a famous Seer who predicted the last sixteen consecutive Ministers of Magic) to the large collection of swirling lollies that literally swirled. Hermione had to divert her eyes after a while for that part of the shop was incredibly bright; in fact, it looked like a rainbow had vomited all over it, for the colours were just splashes of paint and glitter, up the walls, on the floorboards, and somehow on the ceiling.

 

Her eyes found Lily through the crowd, and the redhead waved happily, before politely excusing herself and nudging her way around people.

 

James' eyes, which had been previously scanning the shop, rested on Lily too, and he watched her come closer with a kind of silent awe.

 

"Hermione!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around her and holding her close. When Lily pulled away, she gasped and cupped Hermione's face in her warm hands. "Gods, you're freezing! Here, let's get you warmed up."

 

She unravelled the thick, woolly scarf from her neck and wrapped it around Hermione. Although it was undeniably eliciting feeling into her numb cheeks, she unwillingly gave it back. "I can't take that! I mean, thank you, but I can't have it. You'll freeze!"

 

Lily just laughed, and the sound rang like a tinkling bell around the shop, over the din of the students. "Hermione, did you really think my mother would let me leave for Scotland with only one homemade scarf? I've got about six back in my chest. And I'm wearing one. Look." And sure enough she unbuttoned the top of her coat to reveal a second thick, knitted scarf.

 

Hermione encircled it back around her neck, relishing in the warmth.

 

Sirius grinned at Lily and said, “Evans!” Then his jaw dropped and he exclaimed, “Oh my god, those pants look great. You know where they’ll look even better? James' floor.”

 

No one replied. James froze. His eyes wide, as he uttered, “Are you hitting on Lily...for me?”

 

Lily didn't seem to know how to react. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink, and she couldn't bring herself to look at James, who looked as though he wished the ground would swallow him up. Her eyes eventually flicked to him and she seemed to turn a deeper shade of pink when she noticed his embarrassment was equal, if not more profound, than hers.

 

Hermione exchanged a look with Remus. It seemed like it was out of habit for them to automatically share their silent yet undoubtedly decisive opinions on the idiocy of their friends. They both looked away quickly, realising that they had both broken the promise they made to avoid one another.

 

Lily awkwardly bid farewell to Hermione, heading back to where Marlene and Mary stood with another girl. The girl was tall, with long brown hair and sharp brown eyes. She was chatting animatedly with Marlene, who had four separate lollies in her mouth. Somehow, Marlene still managed to look cool, and when she caught sight of Hermione, her eyes lit up and she waved enthusiastically.

 

Hermione let her eyes wander around the rest of the sweetshop. The group disbanded, each drifting (or in Sirius’ case bounding whilst dragging a still mortified James after him) away to a chocolate or sweet that had piqued their interest. She strolled up and down the aisles, occasionally picking out colourful beans that claimed to explode in the mouth, and laughing at the fireworks that zoomed overhead from trick chocolates.

 

“Mione!”

 

Hermione spun around and saw Peter smiling lopsidedly at her from the end of the aisle. He beckoned her over, excitement streaming from his toothy grin and wide eyes.

 

She felt his happiness infect her and couldn't stop the smile spreading across her own face, as she made her way towards him.

 

When she turned the corner, Peter was stood with his hands behind his back. Hermione felt her eyebrows pull together in mild puzzlement.

 

"What-?"

 

"Look!"

 

He pulled his hands out and revealed to her what he had been holding. It was a small white gobstopper, and she squinted to discern what he meant by it. Her confusion must've been obvious for Peter explained excitedly, "It's a Debilitator!"

 

Hermione's face turned incredulous. "A what?"

 

"A Debilitator!" He repeated. His eyes shone. A hint of a laugh made his voice waver. "It completely shuts people down! If someone's annoying you or being too loud, you stick in in their drink or food and it'll magically dissolve into it and drug them and incapacitate them and calm them down- it’s like a stupefy in a gobstopper!"

 

He said this all in one breath but Hermione understood immediately. She burst out laughing, clutching her mouth. The object of their conversation poked his head over one of the shelves, frowning curiously at them. Sirius’ head was moving up and down slightly, proof to their need of the gobstopper, causing both Hermione and Peter to glance at each other and laugh even harder.

 

“Oh Pete,” she cried, and she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a bear hug.

 

When she let go, Peter looked deliriously happy, and his face and neck were red. Sirius was watching them softly.

 

Peter bounced off to get some more, leaving Hermione behind. She looked to Sirius, and his dark eyes were unbelievably gentle. She averted her gaze up the aisle

 

There, she saw Remus. He had his back to her, his hands deep in his pockets, and he was staring at a huge wall of chocolates.

 

"Hi," Hermione said, making her way up to stand beside him.

 

He turned to look at her. "Hello."

 

It was then that she realised that she didn't really have anything to say, and was glad that he almost instantly turned back to survey the chocolates.

 

And yet, something nibbled at her, and she felt a need to make conversation.

 

"Do you like chocolate?"

 

"Yes."

 

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a sigh. She was trying for God's sake! Why couldn't he cooperate?

 

"Which is your favourite?"

 

Remus sucked in his lips and said, "I don't know."

 

She pursed hers, closing her eyes to calm down, and let the frustration ebb away. "Are you buying any?"

 

He sighed, and the slight pain in the exhalation of air made her look at him. "I don't know."

 

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes and she lifted her cold hands up to her mouth to blow warm air onto her still freezing fingers. "You don't know?"

 

He didn't reply, and when she looked at him, she could clearly see the indecision etched like agony across his face. He was conflicted over something, but what, Hermione had no idea.

 

Abruptly, Remus started talking in a tone that was low and straining to be normal. "Chocolate's poisonous to dogs. It's called theobromine," he said, glancing at her, but he looked away just as quickly. "The toxic component that makes it poisonous. Humans can metabolise it easily, but dogs process it much more slowly, allowing the theobromine to build up toxic levels in their system. Did you know that?"

 

Hermione stared at him, and her brain and heart both hurt. She didn't know whether she could actually speak, but she cleared her throat and managed to say, "No, I didn't."

 

Remus turned to look at her then. His amber eyes were slightly wet, and she only noticed because of the way the light bounced off of the tears. He offered her a fleeting, painful smile and said, "Well now you do."

 

All of a sudden, Remus was shoved into her and he grappled for balance. Hermione reached out, arms gripping his elbows in an attempt to keep them both upright. Once they had stopped falling, Remus wrenched himself from her hands and leapt into action. His wake was on fire; a whirlwind of fury that echoed off of him, and Hermione could do nothing more than stand and stare.

 

Remus reached for the boy who had been pushed into them. He was a fifth year, young and round-faced, and he only came up to Remus’ shoulders.

 

Remus twisted his hands in the boy’s shirt, pulling him up and ramming him against the shelves. A growl left his lips and the boy quivered with fear.

 

“REMUS!”

 

Sirius came out of nowhere, barging past a frozen Hermione, and ripped his friend off the poor fifth year. James appeared instantly behind him, hand fleetingly touching her shoulder to check if she was okay. He didn’t linger, however, and the two pulled an abruptly dejected Remus out of the shop.

 

Peter was there by her side in a second, and his hand held one of her fingers tightly, like something an infant would do. His childlike worry was thick in the air.

 

It was only then that Hermione felt the hush, which had settled over them all at the scene, and as soon as the door slammed shut, life regained colour and continued, rushing on as though nothing had happened.

 

 

*****

 

 

"How many of your fuck ups do we need to cover for?” Sirius exploded, as soon as they had pulled Remus into a nearby alley. He was furious, from the wideness of his eyes to the rigid set of his fingers; there was no part of Sirius that was not tense, and his pale face was the only indication of his true fear. “I know you can't control it, but normally you're a little more in control than this! What's wrong with you? Why is Moony so strong?”

 

Remus had no idea. He deflated against the cold brick wall, closing his eyes and feeling an unbelievable urge to cry. Sirius was right; he’d had to cover for him more times this week than ever before. Whether he was falling asleep in class, or snapping, or just unable to find it in himself to move, Sirius and James and Peter had been there, covering for him. They always did in the days leading up to the Full Moon.

 

But this time, it hurt more. He felt more.

 

James swallowed shakily, and he looked how Remus felt inside. “Remus,” he started. His voice was faint. “What’s going on? What can we do?”

 

But Remus just shook his head, closing his eyes again and leaving them closed. The darkness, the nothingness, was a relief. He felt so low. He’d never felt lower; this hollowing feeling that ate away at his chest was something that Moony inflicted upon him. This depressed state that haunted him ruined everything.

 

“What can we do?” James said again, more urgently.

 

But in all honestly, Remus didn’t think they could do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know… I know… Fleamont is his dad. But I can’t stray from the headcanons of Charlus and Dorea Potter! I love them so much as James’ parents so I’m afraid that whilst I love JK Rowling, I can’t bring myself to write Fleamont and Euphemia. So they are his grandparents in this fic! Sorry guys, but I’ve just gotten used to reading and writing Charlus and Dorea that anyone else (even if it is canon) just doesn’t fit for me.
> 
> This is a very Remus-centred chapter, but it is kind of needed after the last one (to explain a little more deeply the dynamics of his lycanthropy). Don’t worry, the next chapter is going to be all Sirius… and Hermione;) or potentially, the chapter after that!
> 
> I also just wanted to say that when I copy and paste it onto this website from fanfiction.net, the format is lost! So if there are parts that seemed rushed, or strange, or like they don't belong there, then it may be as a result of the format being lost (like the bold words, or italics, or lines that separate different paragraphs). And I don't have a clue how to use this website, so I'm afraid I can't do much about that!! :/
> 
> Please keep your reviews coming- tell me lines you particularly liked, or quotes that stuck with you, or moments that melted your heart/broke you!! I love hearing that I made you cryJ (which is highly vindictive, so I apologise for that!)
> 
> And just to answer a few of you who have been asking, I turned 14 this June so technically I’m not 13 anymore;) ahahaha! But thank you for your kind words! It really means the world to me!


	23. Chapter 23- The Collision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Guys.. Can I just say that when I read the last set of reviews for the previous chapter, you honestly brought tears to my eyes... I mean, you say such nice things! Writing has always been a passion of mine, and to be doing something I love about something I love even more (Harry Potter, more specifically The Marauders!), and to be receiving such positive feedback, it really makes my day. I've been writing for a long time now, and a lot of the things I wrote (original stories especially) just never got any hits, so to be having so many of you tell me how this story is effecting you, or how it's made you happier is just lovely. It brings me such joy to know you guys like this! It's crazy to think anyone can like what I write!
> 
> I love hearing your reactions to what's happened!!! I always check my email really early in a morning before school because your reviews mean that much to me, and I know that if I read them in the morning, I will be overcome with happiness all day!! 
> 
> Thank you. I can't really begin to articulate how much your comments mean.
> 
> I hope you're all well:)
> 
> Everliah

**Chapter 23- The Collision**

About ten minutes later, Hermione and Peter made their way to The Three Broomsticks, where the other three were waiting.

As soon as the door closed behind them, they were enveloped in a warm rush of air that had their cold cheeks and hands tingling.

Peter spotted their friends in no time, and they walked over to join them.

Hermione couldn't help herself, and her eyes devoured the view that was so familiar from her time. The ceiling was low, a dark wood that flickered in the firelight of the many hearths that were placed around the pub, which was the busiest she had ever seen it. There were people everywhere, crammed around tables, stood in the corners. It seemed everyone had retired here to escape the cold.

“Pete!” James exclaimed, and a sliver of relief flashed across his face. He shot up straight. “Mione!”

Sirius stood up, and he reached for her when she got close enough, his warm hand encircling her waist. Hermione took his hand, and he pulled her gently into the booth to sit beside him.

“I don’t think bringing me here is a very good idea,” Remus muttered to James. His eyes had snagged on Hermione, and he felt an internal swirling of  _something_  (though what, he had no idea).

James’ eyes fixated on him. “What do you mean?”

He let his head fall back, closing his eyes and feeling the wash of people overwhelm him. His ears were assaulted with so much noise that he nearly winced, and snippets of conversations were brought to his attention, but Remus had experienced this for years; he’d learnt to tune it out.

“People,” he murmured. Though ‘person’ would be a more specific word to use. Her heartbeat thrummed, and he could hear it in the air.

James swallowed. His eyes flicked to the table, and landed on the small paper bag in front of Peter. A small frown graced his face, and he leaned across the table, reaching for it.

He peered into the top, almost secretively, like he thought it was something that he shouldn’t be seeing, but his skill and speed allowed him to steal it. Interest pulled his lips down.

“What the hell are those?” James asked, scrunching his nose up.

Peter snatched the bag back. “Debilitators.”

Sirius, who had previously had his head tilted close to Hermione’s, turned to look at his friend expectantly. “A what now?” He asked with mildness.

Pete sighed and repeated, “Debilitators!”

James and Sirius exchanged a look. Then they both shrugged, not finding the energy to bother asking what on earth it was Peter had bought this time. They were used to his random collection of thingamabobs that offered no specific use, it was just so Peter, that they gave up now- there was really no point wondering.

Remus sucked in a sharp breath, and he almost cringed when he felt four pairs of eyes shoot to him. James got to his feet abruptly, sending a dazzling smile in their general direction. He picked up his coat and scarf and said, “I’ll be right back!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows after him and called pleasantly, “Cheerio!”

Despite this aloofness, his eyes followed James all the way out of The Three Broomsticks. Then, he turned to Hermione.

His face was incredibly close to hers, and she could feel every fan of breath across her cheeks, count all of his faint freckles. His arm was still behind her, where he had put it as soon as she sat down.

“How are you, darling?”

Hermione swallowed at his low, slightly husky voice and said, “I’m cold.”

Sirius’ eyebrows quirked, and a grin pulled at his stubble coated lips.

“Really?” He exclaimed in mock surprise. “Well, lucky for you, I am extremely hot. Both literally and figuratively.”

She swatted him, and he laughed.

“You are impossibly in love with yourself.”

“Someone’s got to love me,” he pouted, and she grinned at him. Then his eyes softened and he said, “Come here.”

Hermione shuffled closer, and he wrapped both arms around her, resting his head on top of hers. He was right. And not only about how attractive he was, but Sirius seemed to be a walking radiator. In his arms, she could feel the heat sheath her. In his arms, Hermione honestly felt safe.

It was at that moment that Lily entered the pub. A whirlwind of snow escaped inside after her, and she stood on her tiptoes, chin craned up to survey the entire room, as if looking for someone.

Once she spotted them, she quickly made her way over, vivid hair flecked with white. There was a sense of urgency to her movement. When she got close enough, Lily said breathlessly, “James is in trouble.”

Hermione threw her arms up in the air, almost hitting Sirius in the eye. “He’s been gone all of five minutes!”

Peter murmured, “Well, that’s the Marauders for you.”

She grinned, and he looked almost surprised that she had heard him.

Remus, who had been quiet up until that point, raised an eyebrow. “You mean James is in trouble, or James is the trouble?”

“I mean, either he’s in trouble, or he’s going to be,” Lily stressed, and her green eyes lingered on the close proximity of Sirius and Hermione.

Sirius was abruptly alert. His arms turned rigid.

Eventually, he said, “Ah shit.”

Remus frowned at him. The desire to berate his language was clear on his face, but he was also curious as to what Sirius thought James was up to. As if sensing this burning question, Sirius glanced at him and said simply, “Snivellus.”

Hermione frowned this time. Lily’s jaw twitched.

They stood up quickly, hurrying after Lily, who led the way. The snow had slowed to a light drizzle of flakes that threatened to settle on everything they touched and the sky was overcast and littered with clouds.

“Oh,” Lily said. Her eyes were wide and she looked surprised. “I think James both is the trouble, and is  _in_  trouble.”

Hermione agreed.

James was hanging upside down, and it seemed that only one of his ankles was suspended by an invisible rope that connected to thin air. His arms were dangling, and his wand lay slack in his left grip. His face was contorted, and he looked like he would rather be anywhere else than in this confrontation.

“Listen, mate,” James was saying, and he seemed to be trying to diffuse the situation. “I wasn’t looking for a fight-”

“Spare me, Potter,” Snape snarled, and he was rabid.

“Snape-”

“What’s this, Snivellus?” Sirius interrupted loudly, strolling into the middle of it all. A crowd of students surrounded them, apprehension stark in the atmosphere. James made a strangled noise.

“What are you doing?” Remus asked, his tone urgent and blatantly disapproving. He tilted his neck back to look his friend in the eye.

“Just hanging,” James replied. He grinned. “You get it? ‘Hanging’. Because I’m hanging.”

Peter sniggered. Remus just stared at him, slightly pained.

Sirius glanced up at that and asked in a polite voice, “Would you like some help?”

James tried to shrug, although the effect was lessened due to the fact that he was upside down. “I’m rather content, you know. Just hanging. You get it, Padfoot?”

“I get it James. I got it the first time. It’s just not funny.”

James pulled a face.

But Sirius had moved on, and was prowling dangerously. His voice was silky yet left no room for discussion, as he said, “Why don’t you run along, Snivellus, and play with your snake friends?”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “Like your brother you mean?”

Sirius didn’t move. Peter looked sick, like he wanted to run over and pull Sirius and hide him away from all of this, or just run away altogether. But Peter didn’t move. Because he was half everybody else’s size, and his presence was little more than a wisp of smoke in a cloud full of grey gases.

Snape saw this as an opportunity to continue. “Your brother likes it in the Dungeons, you know. He fits in extremely well. I’m sure your mother would be very proud of him.” He spoke in a low and droning voice, the type he used as an adult. But the one he used now was dripping with excitement, like he was finding it hard to contain himself. The vindictiveness poured out of his wide, eager eyes. It seemed there was more to the vendetta between him and Sirius than anyone could fully comprehend. “How was it she shows her affections, Black? You should know, after all.”

“Severus!” Hermione shouted, feeling ill. The implications were more than clear, and Sirius winced. She lowered her wand, and moved to intervene.

Snape faltered, and he looked at her, uncertainty flashing across his face.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, and she made sure to speak quietly once she got close enough, so that nobody else would be able to hear. “James saved your life… Why are you still carrying this pathetic feud on?”

Snape swallowed, and his eyes flicked, almost fleetingly, to Lily. He looked back at Hermione.

“You don’t understand-”

“Oh don’t I?” She said softly. “I understand that you’re a half blood. I understand that you’re in love with someone you threw away because of prejudices you don’t even believe in. I understand that you hate the boys who provoked you to do that… And believe me, I would to. But they have grown up and moved on,” Hermione stressed. “James even saved your life-”

“After he jeopardised it,” Snape pointed at Sirius, who was stricken and breathing deeply.

She paused. “Yes, I know- I know… And that was inexcusable. But there is no need to continue something that will drop away into the void of the past in less than a year.”

Snape stared at her, and there was something sad about the disconcertedness of his being. Hermione saw him then, not as Professor Snape, not as the bully, or the victim, or the half blood, but as Severus Snape, the child.

“What’s this, Snape?” A low drawl came from behind him, and a tall boy strode to join the scene. He surveyed the world with a contemptuous gaze, his eyebrows raised, his lips curled down, as though he were in constant distaste of everything around him. Platinum blonde hair fell to his shoulders, and his cool blue eyes landed on Hermione.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to this Mudblood?”

She couldn’t think.

Snape licked his lips and said, “What makes you say that?”

Lucius Malfoy cocked his head. “She’s dirty. You can practically see it oozing off of her.”

She couldn’t even register the insult.

Sirius growled, starting forward. “Why you little blonde fucker.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed on him. His face grew pink and unflatteringly blotchy, and it was clear that the events of their last encounter were still fresh on his mind. “Hello Black,” he spat. “I was hoping to run into you again. I believe our last meeting was cut unfortunately short.”

He raised his wand.

Hermione inhaled shakily. Coiling in her abdomen, was an unusual feeling, and she felt her eyes burning with hot tears. Images, devastation, flashed before her. And suddenly, she wasn’t seeing Lucius Malfoy… She was seeing Draco.

“Oh please, I’d like to see you try!” Sirius barked, brandishing his own wand, and a spell was forming and bursting from both of their lips, and Hermione barely had enough time to think, before she was spinning around to face him. She blocked the path of the spell, and it was as though she was someone else, watching the display, and herself, and the very air around it, all at once. For she felt the two spells make impact with her body. She felt the collision… And then she didn’t feel anything at all.

The only rational thought Hermione could string together as the ground loomed closer, was that Draco’s face was immensely paler when he was in shock, and that he was not in this time, and that she had just jumped in front of a spell meant for Lucius Malfoy.

 

oOoOoOo

 

“It’s all my fault!”

James’ voice wrenched her out of her sleep, but Hermione still felt foggy, like her brain had stopped working.

“Yes, it is,” Peter affirmed. In the silence that followed, she could only imagine the exasperated look that James sent him.

“One question I’d like to know however, is how do you manage to get out of everything unscathed?” Sirius asked in disbelief, from somewhere on her other side.

Remus grimaced, absentmindedly rubbing his fists, “I don’t. I nearly broke my knuckles last time.”

“That was entirely your fault for punching me. You have only yourself to blame,” he replied. Remus rolled his eyes. “And besides I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to James.”

James smiled lightly. “Because I’m nice. You should try it sometime. C'mon, compliment me. Tell me my hair looks fantastic.”

Sirius frowned and said, “But your hair looks disgusting. Did you even shower today?”

Nodding, James sucked his lips in. “That’s a great start. We can work on that.”

Hermione chose that moment to let out a pained groan. The four boys fell quiet, and they all looked at her expectantly. James looked beyond relieved as well.

She blinked a few times, gingerly, and opened her eyes. The Hospital Wing was white and sterile, and the sight of it made her groan again. This had to be a track record! She was sure she wasn’t this danger prone in her time.

They were all there. Sirius was pacing next to her, worriedly biting his thumb. Remus was slumped on a chair, and Peter seemed too anxious to do anything; he was stood at the bottom of her bed, tightly wound.

It reminded her vaguely of her very first day in the past.

“It’s all my fault!” James said immediately, covering his face with his hands.

Hermione looked at him. “What?”

He peeked through the gaps of his fingers. “If I hadn’t have provoked him, then he wouldn’t have attacked me and you wouldn’t need to have saved me and you wouldn’t be here now.”

She rubbed her head, feeling like this information was too much to process at the minute. Hermione said blearily, “Tell me that again when my mind doesn’t feel like it’s been bulldozed.”

He cringed.

“Where did you go anywhere?” She asked.

James looked confused, then realisation dawned on his face, and he pulled out a paper bag and dropped it onto the bed in front of Remus, who was sat on the other side by her feet.

The latter frowned at the bag, but made no move to pick it up. He raised his eyes to James.

Although Hermione hadn’t noticed before, Remus looked considerably paler. His skin was sickly and pallid, and his features were dark smudges on his face.

“It’s for you,” James said.

Remus licked his lips. “What is it?”

He still didn’t pick it up.

“Open it and see, why don’t you?” Sirius suggested forcefully.

Albeit hesitantly, and with an expression that hinted he really did not want to do what he was doing, Remus emptied the bag onto the covers. Inside, were six large chocolate bars- the ones he and Hermione had been staring at earlier.

He went tense. He pushed them away and didn’t look at James. “You know I can’t eat these.”

“I know you want to,” James said.

Remus shook his head. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“Do what?”

“Go out of your way for me,” he explained awkwardly. “Buy them for me…”

James seemed puzzled. “It’s just chocolate.”

Hermione was struck then by the fact that James Potter was an obvious Pureblood. He had clearly been raised in a family where wealth had always been no question, and he could buy whatever he wanted and dare to dream about the expenses of the world. To Remus, a boy who practically thrived off of self-pity and self-hatred, this was too big of a deal. To James, it was nothing whatsoever.

Remus hastily shoved the chocolates back into the bag. He stood up, avoiding everyone’s gaze, and said something about a homework task he had to finish, and then something else in welsh that sounded like, “Mae'n ddrwg gennyf,” before he disappeared.

Peter hopped to his feet, and his eyes followed his friend. He looked back at Hermione, an apology burning his lips.

“Go,” she said. The worry in his eyes was evident.

He followed Remus.

James shot back to her, and he looked so guilty that he practically seeped distress. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t meant to be cornered by Snape. He didn’t force her to step into the oncoming spell. That was all her.

To say she was the Brightest Witch of her Age, she was pretty stupid sometimes.

Hermione put her hand on his.

“I didn’t want to tell you earlier,” she said. “I wanted you to find out for yourself… But Harry’s on the Quidditch team, as well.” James’ head perked up, and his eyes and mouth widened. “Youngest Seeker in a century, actually.”

Hermione smiled as she saw the pride shining on his face. He looked in awe of his son, and something inside of her ached at the thought of just how proud he would be if he truly knew Harry.

“My son?” James echoed. “Harry? My son! Youngest bloody Seeker in a century! Y’hear that Padfoot?”

“I hear it, Prongs,” Sirius confirmed, and he was smiling slightly.

She laughed, as James jumped to his feet, hands on his head in disbelief. A surprised but euphoric sound escaped his lips as he said again, “Youngest Seeker in a century…”

“He was brilliant,” Hermione continued, feeling the words fall from her mouth. “Never lost a game, unless he was injured or sabotaged! And then he was Captain in his sixth year, and he was such a great leader, James! You should’ve seen him!”

James had tears in his eyes; he was enraptured. She licked her lips. “You should’ve seen him…”

A stray tear fell when he blinked, and James said earnestly, “I will. Okay, Hermione? I will. We’ll do it right, this time. I promise. I’ll see him. I’ll watch him grow up. I promise.”

Hermione nodded. But she wasn’t sure whether what he was proposing was even possible.

He stood up, biting his lip and raking a hand through his damp hair. Offering her an uneasy smile, he opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue.

Hermione understood anyway, and she nodded again, smiling. James swallowed, before he turned and left.

Now, it was just Hermione and Sirius.

He didn’t look at her as he said, “I’m sorry I nearly killed you.”

She snorted. “You do like to over exaggerate things.”

Sirius didn’t look amused.

“You didn’t nearly kill me,” she started.

“You don’t know that! I could’ve used any spell, Hermione! And I know some pretty dark stuff!”

Hermione licked her lips. Her chest felt heavy. “Yes, but you wouldn’t use any of it.”

And his face crumped. This was what he was truly upset about. “How do you know that? How do you know I won’t use it? I wanted to hurt Malfoy today for calling you that word! I wanted to make him suffer! I could be just as bad as they are, worse even! How do you know I’m not?”

“ _Because I know Sirius Black_!” Hermione burst out. Her voice was high and strained and the passion and agitation leaked out of her. “I know how brave and how loyal and how loving Sirius Black truly is, and I refuse to let you taint him! I won’t let you!”

Sirius stared at her. It was the most she had ever said about any of their futures. Of course, she told them a lot of James’ (and the truth made him shiver and shake with the draining sensation of a nightmare), but this was the first time she had ever mentioned his.

“I won’t let you, Sirius Black,” Hermione said. “Because you are a good man. You are the best man I ever knew, and I am not going to let you fall, okay? I’m not! I refuse to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Okay!! So what did you think???
> 
> Any parts you liked, didn't like? Any quotes that made you laugh, made you cry? I love to know! 
> 
> Just a quick little explanation, by the way, about this connection between Remus and chocolate, which has played a huge role in this chapter and the last (look away now if you already know or wish to wait until Hermione finds out in the next chapter (or two).........
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Chocolate is poisonous to dogs, as Remus said in Chapter 22. And yet he's always seen with chocolate (granted, some people believe it was just a one-off, but I love the idea that he always carries chocolate around with him! And so, I found this Headcanon on tumblr that connected these two points and said "What if Remus eats chocolate because he hopes it will kill the canine part of him?" And I found it so tragic that it made me want to light myself on fire. I became obsessed with this headcanon since, and I therefore will defend it until the day I die.
> 
> That is why he is so conflicted. Because Moony is fighting against the human urge (a little like Jekyll and Hyde I guess, if you've ever read that!). But James knows this conflict and still tries to put his friend out of his misery, by buying him the chocolate anyway because he loves him.
> 
> So there we go! If you have anymore questions that I most likely will not explain in the upcoming chapters, please message me or leave a comment and I'll address them in the next chapter! Thank you!!!!
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL! SWEET DREAMS (IF YOU'RE IN THE UK) OR IF NOT- GOOD DAY TO YOU ALL! I HOPE IT GOES WELL!


	24. Chapter 24- The Wolf

**Chapter 24- The Wolf**

Sirius remained with her, even as the sky outside grew dark. He climbed into the bed, and had his arm wrapped around her, and Hermione snuggled into him as their conversation slowly melted into trivial nonsense.

It was much later on, after hours of laughing at James' face when he was suspended upside down, to chatting aimlessly about nothing important, that Sirius turned to her, his face solemn.

She held her breath.

“Why did you jump in front of the spell?”

It was something that had been eating away at him ever since it had happened. The guilt had pained him, a nagging feeling that threatened to choke him. Although he hadn’t known her long, Sirius didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. Especially if he was the one responsible. It might’ve been her eyes, the way they seemed to understand the soul they looked into, or her laugh, that never failed to make him smile, but Sirius Black knew that he would go out of his mind if anything happened to Hermione Granger.

“I thought he was someone else,” Hermione said faintly. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

Sirius licked his lips and tilted his head further down to watch her as he asked gently, “Someone else?”

She turned her head away from him. There was indecision bubbling inside of her. She’d spoken of Harry. Hell, she’d even spoken of Ron, and those two boys meant more to her-  _mean_  more to her, than anything else in the entire universe, in the entire fabric of time. If she could talk about them, why was her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth? Why was her mind not working?

Why was she finding it so hard to talk about Draco Malfoy?

Hermione dragged her eyes up to Sirius. “I never told you how I got here,” she said. “Did I?”

"No," he replied. "You didn't."

Hermione breathed in shakily. The whiteness of the Hospital Wing faded away, trickling into the ruin of stone and the pungent stench of death was heavy in the air.

She remembered running away, after seeing the body of the boy she had loved more than herself. She remembered him finding her, saying her name, mouthing something she couldn’t quite catch, before he was falling and falling and falling and-

“Hermione.”

Sirius wrenched her out of her mind. Hermione swallowed, willing her strength to return. She felt weak, but she had to say it. She had avoided it for so long, too long.

“Harry died.”

Those two words echoed through the room, long after she had said them. It was hard enough already- she couldn’t do this! - and yet, she hadn’t even started.

“I ran away. I knew we’d lost and I couldn’t stop falling apart and Ron was already gone and I ran to the only place I could think of. The Room of Requirement. Only I wasn’t the first person there…”

_(“Hello Granger.”)_

“He was there. Hiding, for his life,  _from_  his life… I have no idea…”

Sirius was watching her carefully. “Who was? Who was there, Hermione?”

She swallowed. The words froze her brain and as soon as they touched the air, she grappled in desperation to take them back.

“Draco Malfoy.”

 

_(“Draco.”_

_“Don’t do that Granger.”_

_“Don’t do what?”_

_“Don’t speak to me like we’re friends. You know we’re not.”_

_“Draco-”_

_“We are on different sides of the war, Granger! If we were two different people, then we would be killing one another!”_

_“But we’re not. We’re not two different people. We’re still the same people, just older-”_

_“No, we’re not! We’re not-”_

_…._

_“How could you?”_

_“No! No! Please, Granger! I didn’t know, I was already here! I didn’t know they wanted you, please!”_

_“I don’t understand… If you didn’t, then why-?”_

_“I-”_

_“Draco?”_

_“I-I lov-”_

**“I’m sorry, Hermione.”** _)_

She was crying now, and Hermione didn’t even realise that she was gripping the front of Sirius’ shirt with a devastation she didn't know she possessed. "He saved me," she said finally. "I was the last key member of the Order, and they were looking for me. He sent me back here when they found us." The tears made her cheeks feel sore. The story made her heart feel like it was being cracked open and her eyes stung. "The last thing I saw in my time was Draco Malfoy's body hitting the floor because they killed him. They killed him because he let me live."

Sirius' hand cupped her fist and his knuckles were white. She looked up at him, and noticed that he looked much older than ever before. He looked like the Sirius she knew. "You didn't step in front of my spell to save Lucius, did you?" He asked quietly, though it was more of a statement. "You stepped in front of it to save Draco."

Hermione merely looked at him, and before she was given time to reply, the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open and James exploded into the room.

He seemed tense, but despite his obvious worry, he was trying to appear aloof.

It wasn't working.

"Sirius," he said. His voice was as grave as his face.

Sirius stared at him for a long time before he turned to look to Hermione. Their faces were so close again, and she wondered idly what would happen if they got any closer.

"Did you mean it?" Sirius asked in a coarse voice, quiet enough so that James couldn't hear.

Hermione looked startled. "Mean what?"

"When you said I was a good man..." He seemed almost ashamed to have to ask. His eyes wavered, like he wanted to cast them away, but tenacity told him not to. She pushed herself up, and off the bed a little bit, to kiss his cheek.

Lingering there, Hermione whispered, "I meant every word."

Sirius' face softened, and he seemed rather breathless as she pulled away.

He stared at her, and something flickered across his face, a longing for something, but he schooled his features quickly, and the expression was nothing more than a fleeting set of muscles that decided to tense at the same time.

He disentangled himself from her and climbed out of the bed.

Hermione looked at James. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

He regarded her with wide eyes, not replying for a second and then shook himself, as though he was taken aback by her question. "No," James said. His smile was forced. His face was pallid. She saw right through his facade. He was as bad a liar as Harry. "It's just Remus' aunt has taken horribly sick. He's not too good at the moment either. And Sirius always seems to know how best to cheer him up." He paused, before adding, "And how best to annoy him, but it's really the first one I need him for at present."

It was a believable lie, and Hermione didn't need to wonder how no one had discovered where the four boys really got off to.

"I see," she said. "Please do send my best regards."

"Of course," James smiled tightly.

Hermione looked at Sirius then, and she felt anxiety streak through her. She'd met Moony, once upon a time, long ago and he was dangerous.

Sirius leaned down to hug her. She held onto his arms, and a part of her didn't want to let him go.

"Stay asleep tonight, yeah?" Sirius said, as he retracted himself, but his arm lingered on her waist. He dropped down, pressing his lips to her forehead and keeping them there. Hermione's fingers enclosed his wrist. He added judiciously, “Please don’t go outside tonight. It’s cold. Don’t want you catching hypothermia, which is likely in your current state.” An unamused laugh followed this.

The words ‘ _Be Safe, Please’_  died on her lips.

“In my current state?” Hermione said instead, but though the words were meant to be arched, they fell flat.

The words ‘ _I need you to be safe_ _’_  died on his lips.

“Yes, bedridden and delusional and all that,” Sirius replied instead, tapping her chin. The joke was short-lived and it did nothing to quench the growing tempest of unease inside of them both.

And all too soon, he was walking away, shooting her that grin that dripped with youth and showed that he didn’t have a care in the world.

It was that grin that frightened her most of all. She’d seen that grin and whoever wore it often ended up dead.

He looked back once and the doors shut with a resounding bang. Hermione was alone.

 

oOoOoOo

 

She couldn't sleep. It had been two hours since they had left, and Hermione could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, images of a wolf and a dog snarling and fighting and tearing each other to shreds flashed before her, invading the darkening recluse of sleep.

She sat up suddenly. Worry nibbled at her subconscious, and Hermione associated it with the feeling of war, of having someone you love walk out of the door and wondering idly whether they would live to walk back through it.

The moonlight pooled through the high windows, and onto the infirmary floor.

There was no choice in the matter. She could not lay here and do nothing.

Hermione threw back her covers and resolutely swung her legs out of bed. As soon as she stood up, her vision faltered and everything around her spun. She closed her eyes, gripping the bedside table.

Eventually, she felt her head return to normal, and she grabbed for her coat, which was hanging over the back of a nearby chair, shoving her arms through it and fastening it up to her chin. She slipped on her shoes.

Hermione quickly but cautiously glanced at the nurse’s office, but there was no sign of life behind the closed door. She crept to the exit, and experimentally pushed the door open. It didn’t creak. She almost sighed in relief.

Peering into the shadows of the corridor, she darted out. The castle was draughty, and Hermione moved with haste; her head was down and she stopped for nothing.

She was stood in front of the main entrance in no time. They weren’t even locked, and she slipped outside, into the beckoning clutches of the night.

The cold clawed at her bare legs, and instantly the wind seemed to want to blow her over. The sky was an impossible black, billowing down into the forest in tendrils and obscuring the grounds. The moon was high and full, riding the clouds like a ghostly galleon.

Hermione stepped forwards once. Twice. Even through her brogues, she could feel the wetness of the grass.

Something howled.

Suddenly, she didn’t think this was such a good idea.

She continued moving, despite not really knowing where she was headed. The Whomping Willow’s branches reached for the sky, as if trying to pierce the moon, like it was a balloon, and free those from the curse it inflicted. Hermione folded her arms. Her wand was gripped incredibly tightly in her hand, and her eyes flitted to everything that moved.

“Better be careful, darling.”

Hermione jumped, a scream threatened to tear from her throat and she spun around.

He looked scruffy and unkempt, his hair much longer than usual, though that might've just been because he hadn't brushed it. His face was dirty, and his clothes, which had looked so clean when she had last seen him, were ripped and ragged.

In a voice just as low and quiet as the one he used before, Sirius murmured, "Don't know what monsters might roam in the dark."

Hermione had a feeling she did.

He moved closer to her, and his seemingly casual stance was rigid. Sirius’ eyes monitored their surroundings. He eventually looked at her. “I thought I told you not to come outside tonight.”

“No, you didn’t,” Hermione argued. “You said ‘please don’t go outside.’ You didn’t explicitly tell me not to do anything.”

“Your current state won’t benefit from this.”

“Your current state will deteriorate rapidly in a minute if you continue,” she warned.

Sirius let a fleeting grin steal across his face. But it was brief.

His face fell abruptly, and Hermione knew what it was without having to turn around. There was a scuffle, the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing and she felt her heart leap to her throat, as though it was trying to escape out of her mouth. Warning bells rang in her head and they were so loud, she thought they might deafen her.

"Hermione," Sirius began. There was a low yet forceful caution to his voice. He held a hand out slowly, and his eyes never moved off of the thing behind her. "I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise not to scream, okay? Don't say anything, just nod."

His eyes glanced at her. She nodded. They immediately flicked back to their original target.

"That wasn't the wind howling."

And even though she knew, Hermione still felt her blood run cold in her veins. Her eyes were glued on Sirius, and she felt tears but it was too cold and her face was too chapped and dry to let them fall.

She was struck with the familiar notion that something very bad could happen here, and she wanted to run away, but Hermione knew she had to stay motionless.

Sirius swallowed. The veins in his neck were exposed, and she focused on the rapid throbbing of his pulse. "Hermione," he said, and his index finger beckoned her discreetly forward. "Move slowly, love. That's it.  _Slower_! Slower... Come here."

She did so. She lifted her feet, one at a time, and placed them back on the damp ground as though she were acting out a slow motion piece. Her mind was fuzzy, and she couldn't think straight.

Her heart stopped when a branch snapped underneath her foot.

There was a growl behind her.

She felt sick, and yet something was pulling her to turn around. She had to see him, even though moving an inch could kill her.

She began turning around.

"HERMIONE-!"

In her peripheral vision, she saw the wolf launch into action, just as she was wrenched backwards by Sirius, who propelled himself forward in her place. They switched rapidly, and the power behind his pull left her on the floor.

Hermione looked up quickly, just in time to see Sirius running forward. And then his hands morphed into paws, and black fur sprouted from his arms, which were shrinking in size and width. He jumped in the air, and the transition was so fleeting that she barely could distinguish the moment where he was a man, and where he was a dog. It seemed like there was no in between. He was one.

Padfoot bounded, and he was large and full and vicious-looking.

Hermione could only stare in muted horror as the dog barked, in a peculiarly human tone. It seemed to be pleading.

Bracing herself, she lifted her eyes to the wolf... And gasped.

The beast was rather beautiful, with voluminous fur and a smaller snout and a rounder face. Its eyes were bright amber, even brighter in the moonlight, and the wolf seemed almost majestic in its movement, and young and free.

And she couldn't help but compare him to the one she had met in her third year. It was terrible what years of solitude could do to both a man, and the monster inside of him.

The wolf lowered its haunches, which Hermione hadn't even noticed were raised. Its lips dropped from the snarl that that contorted its skin.

Hermione exhaled shakily.

Amber eyes snapped to her.

The wolf crouched into all-fours, dangerously preparing itself for something. She could see the murderous rage in its eyes, and even though this thing was a major threat to her life, even though it could tear her thrumming pulse from her neck with its teeth, Hermione still felt pity for it.

But the pity drained from her, as the wolf started prowling closer.

A growl parted its lips-

And then Padfoot jumped between them. The dog was warning, snarling and spitting, but the wolf didn't seem to be threatened. As Sirius tried to force it back, the wolf stood on its hind legs and swiped for the canine.

The dog was flicked aside, like nothing more than a common fly.

Hermione whimpered.

The wolf progressed again, and it seemed locked on her, adamantly set on reaching her. To do what, she had not a clue and she didn't fancy finding out.

But Sirius came out of nowhere again, from the left, jumping on the wolf's side and the two rolled down the banking. Howls and whines broke into the silent air, and Hermione felt horror build in her as she recognised them to be Padfoot's.

She wondered desperately where James and Peter were.

Seconds stole by, and still the agonised sounds of the fight assaulted the night. Flesh met flesh. Claws drew blood. Teeth snapped vehemently.

The wolf was a monster; unyielding and constant in its attacks, and Padfoot was becoming slow and weak.

The panicked thought fractured her terrified silence so profoundly, she did not even have time to think before Hermione was on her feet, scrambling forward and screaming, "STOP! STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"

The wolf did not stop. It did not even slow down. It was a killing machine and it thrived off death and destruction. The moon watched its creation with a kind of avid glee.

"STOP!" Hermione was desperate. She could feel her throat going hoarse. She had to stop it... She had to stop him. "REMUS! PLEASE!"

And the wolf stopped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you have probably ruled out a Sirius/Hermione pairing by now because of the Remus/Hermione interactions, but please don't!   
> I haven't actually decided who she's going to end up with, if any of them. But the way I see it is this isn't going to be a soppy love story. First and foremost, it's probably angst- this fic will continue into the First Wizarding War, definitely, and will show how Hermione faces yet another war- the war that started everything. People will die. People will get hurt, and things are probably going to get progressively darker after a certain point. But not for a while, as I’m still fleshing out friendships and Hogwarts, and I want to explore the comedic, lighter side of the Marauders before I plunge them into darkness.  
> I do like Remus/Hermione- they work well together. They’re very alike, and that is a relationship I can see working out through mental stimulation and jokes that are far above anyone else’ IQ.   
> But I also like Sirius/Hermione- lots of PDA that he thinks nothing of, lots of smiles and laughter and kisses and happiness.   
> I seriously have no clue. But as I said, it’s not a love triangle (I am NOT a fan on Twilight, so this isn’t going to be a fic centred on that.   
> ANYWAY, I FINALLY WROTE THIS CHAPTER! Or the beginning anyway! I’ve been really excited to tackle the werewolf part for a while and I quite like this I’m rather proud.   
> Thank you so much for your reviews!! The fact that so many of you are saying that I could pursue writing as a full-time career and actually write my own book is beyond phenomenal! I don’t think you understand how much that means to me. Being an author has always been a dream of mine, and to hear from fellow readers that I have the potential to be so is incredible! Especially when society is constantly pushing me into going to college and university and studying things that are completely and utterly useless.  
> Thank you. So much.  
> As always: favourite line? Favourite quote? Favourite character? Favourite chapter/scene so far?  
> Sending lots of love your way! Have a nice day! (Or night:))   
> Everliah


	25. Chapter 25- The Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo guys, it's half 2 in the morning here in England, and I've had major writer's block on this hence the terribly slow update. It's a miracle I even managed to write anything! But once I got past the first part, I found it rather easy to get back into the flow of the story.
> 
> Bit of romance here.I am going to emphasise once more- romance is only a secondary plot. It's going to play a part (a bigger part in the first half of the story when they're at Hogwarts because they're teenagers with not a care in the world) and then slowly tamper out once the darkness settles. But if you are a hopeless romantic, please say! I'll try not to lose the happier, lighter themes, but they will most definitely be put to the side once the war starts (which won't be for a while yet anyway).
> 
> So this might not be the best but I'm desperate to upload for you, and I'm quite satisfied with it! Thank you so so so so so so SO much for your lovely words! I cannot possibly express how humbled I am by all of you taking time of your day to read this story and leave a comment- it means everything to me:)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

  
Chapter 25- The Monster

 

The wolf stopped.

It stared at her with something flickering in its deep amber eyes. Hermione couldn't breathe, and the weight of her actions threatened to overwhelm her.

Why had she called out to it?

What idiot would willingly provoke a werewolf?

She almost rolled her eyes, at the realisation that she was the idiot in question, and she would've done, but they were glued to the creature in front of her.

At the time, the only distinctive thing that ran through her tangled brain was that she had to stop it. The wolf was merciless; it would have torn Sirius to sheds given half the chance.

Panic settled in her mind and it was as if she was far away from the scene, disengaged almost, and it was frightening.

Would she be able to act if she needed to?

What Hermione needed was to run. Fast. She cared for Remus, deeply, perhaps more than she should, but the thing standing in front of her was not fully Remus.

And there was no telling whether it would rip her apart if she stayed long enough, or let her go.

She was jolted out of her frenzied thoughts by a scuffle in front of her. The wolf, albeit hesitantly, was edging closer. Its steps were small, and there was an insecurity to its eyes, which had Hermione feeling, if possible, even more unnerved. At least before, she could tell what it was thinking and. more importantly, whether or not it was going to try to kill her. Now, however, the beast in front of her was like a grenade; one that you couldn’t tell if the pin had been pulled or not, and you had no idea how long you had left before eventually (if ever) it would blow.

Hermione felt sick, down to her heart, and cold. She had been in a life or death situation before, and would almost certainly face one again, if she lived… But she had never been this frightened of oblivion. Not when she had so much to do, so much to put right. If she died now, she would never be able to change the future. Lily and James would still die. Voldemort would still come back. Sirius would die. Remus would die. Peter would die. Harry would die. Ron would die. Draco would die. She would die. It would just be one perpetual circle of agony, of devastation and death. The past would be untouchable and the future would be obdurate, and Hermione couldn’t bear the idea of not existing, when she had so much to put right.

The wolf padded closer still. Small steps, and the sound of its paws hitting the earth matched the beat of her heart. It was like it was afraid of something. Hermione thought the feeling was mutual.

And suddenly, it was there in front of her. She held her breath, and the anticipation seemed to choke her. Dread dribbled through her lungs, in place of oxygen. This was it. This could be the end. She let her eyes travel over the wolf’s shoulder, and she could just the see moon, high up in the sky. It had never looked so cold and Hermione closed her eyes.

There was silence. Nothing happened. No whisper of movement, no growl, nothing.

Then, she felt something warm and wet on her cheek, and she bit back a whimper. Her eyes flew open, wide and frightened, and what she saw made her freeze. Her fear was tangible in the air between them.

The wolf was impossibly close, and its muzzle was nuzzling her cheek. Hermione could hear the slight whine pouring from its lips, which were inches away from her face.

She wasn’t dead. But she didn’t have time to relax; her heart was in her throat, throbbing erratically.

The whine grew louder and then lower, morphing into a twisted growl and when her eyes closed quickly, Hermione felt a tear fall down her face. She couldn’t hold it back anymore. A shaking breath escaped her lips, and she grappled to take it back. The wolf’s vicious growl faltered.

It pulled away, and whimpered. Hermione opened her eyes. The creature was still unbelievably close to her, and its entire body was rigid, its eyes were alarmed and irresolute and it looked at her with a pleading uncertainty. She stared back at it, and her veins were on fire. The werewolf leaned its head forward, and when she flinched, it drew back slightly. Then, it tried again, moving closer. It rested its nose against her forehead.

Hermione felt a long, slow breath leave her, and she didn’t dare move. It then nudged her, like a dog would, pushing her away, and she tumbled a couple of steps backwards.

Alarmed, she watched it. The wolf stood there, regarding her with impenetrable eyes, and it came closer again and nudged her forehead once more. A whine left its lips. There was something desperate to it.

Hermione conceded and after a few seconds, she turned on her heel and ran back up to the castle, as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look back. She didn’t think twice, lest the wolf change its mind.

It was only when she had escaped back into the confines of the castle did she feel safe, when the moon could not see her anymore. She didn’t stop running, however, until she had rounded the first few corners, when her lungs felt like they would explode from her exhaustion. Hermione collapsed against the wall, hand reaching up to clutch her cries as they threatened to pour from her gaping mouth. She sobbed on the floor, in the darkness of the night, with her heart pounding against her ribcage, because the world was unfair and the most beautiful person she knew had a monster writhing inside of him.

The image of the black dog, screaming and bleeding, haunted her. If she had just stayed asleep, then Sirius would be fine. He would be fine.

 _He will still be okay_ , she thought obstinately.  _He will live because he is Sirius Black. He can’t die._

Hermione couldn’t remember how she got back to the Hospital Wing after that, only that she somehow did. She couldn’t recall the route she took, nor what happened on the way there. It was just one minute, she was in the corridor and then suddenly, in the next, she was climbing into her bed, feeling a numb and infinite tiredness in her bones. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Her forehead was still wet.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Hermione woke up feeling dazed. The room seemed to spin, and the light hurt her eyes, and she had to squint until the world returned to normal.

Blinking hazily, she sat up. The events of the night came flooding back, overwhelming her mind, and she sucked on her tongue to try and stop herself from crying again. The darkness, Sirius, the wolf, the fight, the agonised whines, the growl that seemed to raise every hair on her body, the gentle yet pressing nudges, as though the wolf was not quite a wolf, but something else entirely-

“Hermione?”

The infirmary was significantly busier than it had been last night.

Peter was the one who had spoken and his wide eyes and skinny face were turned towards her. He looked tired, as tired as Hermione felt, and a yawn stretched his lips. James was pacing at the bottom of her bed. His hair looked as though he had been running his fingers through it, as it was more dishevelled than usual. There were bags under his eyes, and a tense crinkle near his mouth.

Her attention flitted to the next boy and she nearly cried out in relief. Sirius was curled up on a chair on her right, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Hermione wanted to tear her eyes away from him, but she couldn’t. She was enraptured and she drank his appearance in like she was dehydrated. He was bruised and bloody, and his left eye was swollen and black. But he was still alive. He was there, before her, breathing and hurting and living. She wanted to reach out and pull him close and never let him go, because her heart had ached so much. She’d known it. She’d told herself he would be okay- it was Sirius Black, after all. He was the most stubborn person Hermione knew. His hair was still soft and shiny; the only thing right about him. Hermione wanted to scoff. Of course, his hair would still be perfect, regardless of any life or death experience.

And finally, the next bed over was occupied by Remus, who was sleeping. His face was cast in shadows, and the bruises were purple and the scratches were red and Hermione had to swallow because he looked so broken. She had never seen anyone look as broken as Remus Lupin in that moment.

Hermione remembered that phrase about seeing the other guy in a fight. She’d seen Sirius, and now that she saw  _the other guy_ , she understood what it meant. Remus looked like Death itself. Not one part of his body was unscathed, and she felt the urge to cry for him, for the unnecessary pain she’d inflicted.

James stopped pacing. He turned to look at her, and his hazel eyes were stark.

“Hermione,” he said. Then he licked his lips. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Hermione froze. That was not what she had been expecting.

“Do you even realise how stupid that was?!” James stressed, and his voice had risen in volume, until it was bordering on a shout. “Sirius told you to stay asleep, he was trying to warn you to stay inside! Hell, you know us in the future! Surely you must’ve known-”

He broke off, panting, and realisation dawned on his face. She inhaled deeply.

“You knew,” he said, quieter this time. “Didn’t you? Hermione, please don’t tell me you knew. Please do not tell me that you intentionally and informedly went out there…”

Hermione diverted her eyes to the floor. It was much easier to stare at something that wasn’t shouting at you. She could feel Sirius’ weathered gaze on her.

“Fuck, Hermione! What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve died! You could’ve gotten yourself killed! You could’ve gotten Sirius killed!”

James was hysterical now, and she was taken aback by the tremor of his voice, and the fury that coated the words. He sighed, and the sound was ragged. Peter trembled, his eyes were downcast. His eyebrows were knitted together in a tight frown, and he looked distressed as he said painfully, “James, please don’t.”

“Please don’t what, Pete?” He retorted. “Please don’t try and knock some sense into her? For fuck’s sake Hermione-  _we could’ve lost you!”_

Those four final words cracked, and they echoed around the Hospital Wing. She felt her breath leave her, as though it had been stolen.

James sucked his lips in and his eyes closed. Hermione focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. When his eyes opened again, he mumbled, “I need some air.” Before he stormed out of the infirmary.

Peter got to his feet quickly, staring at the doors, which were swinging shut. He shot an apologetic look at Hermione, before hurrying from the room.

Not for the first time, it was just her and Sirius. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, and part of her was grateful when he broke the silence; the other part wished he would leave her alone. Guilt and shame ate away at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Hermione looked at him. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Licking her lips, she asked carefully, “What for?”

“For not being straight with you,” Sirius said. He tugged the blanket further around his shoulders. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t listen if I was cryptic. You seem to have a knack for doing things you’re told not to do.”

“It’s a gift,” Hermione said dryly, and the irony did not escape her that she was in that exact same situation with Dumbledore. Not that he knew.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Maybe next time I should just strap you down.”

“I’d still get out,” she said.

“Oh, trust me Kitten, I have no doubt you would,” he chuckled, but the sound was hoarse. He stood up slowly, blanket still tightly encircling his body.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione called quickly. Her voice broke. “I didn’t-”

She faltered. Her lips parted and she tried to form words, but they simply faded away into the air. How could she express the abject terror she felt at the mere thought of anything happening to him? How could she tell him how frightened she was that he could die? Because of her? Somehow, she managed to get out, in a breathless whisper, “I thought you could’ve died.”

Sirius stared at her. He didn’t seem to know what to say, and his face changed a number of times as various jaw muscles twitched or tensed. He said, “I’m okay. I’m alive, aren’t I darling? Just a little bruised, s’all.”

She let her eyes savour him. Then she nodded, and he left too. And she was left alone, and it felt like no one had even been there at all.

Hermione sighed. Her head felt heavy, and she licked her lips, wanting nothing more than to flop back on her bed and sleep for a long, long time.

“It _was_  stupid,” a voice to her right said. She jumped, hastily shooting a look in the direction of the sound.

Remus was blearily peering at her through half-lidded eyes. She pursed her lips. “What was?”

“Going outside during the Full Moon. Especially when Sirius had told you not to.”

“Sirius didn’t explicitly tell me anything!” Hermione fumed, ignoring the guilt inside of her that blossomed when she blamed Sirius on her foolhardiness.

Remus stared at her. His amber eyes were still narrowed, so that he could see her in the bright light of the early morning sun. There was a sad droopiness to his entire being, but Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was just the bruises that made him look that way, or something else, something deeper.

“I should’ve guessed that you’d know,” he said eventually, quietly, and she had to strain to hear it.

She didn’t reply. His skin felt hot and bubbling, and Remus wanted to tear it from his bones, but he couldn’t find the energy. It was always like this near the Full Moon, he always had urges, desires, to do something, but he could never find the strength. He was always drained of everything; power, determination, life. But this feeling was now tenfold at the prospect that Hermione, the girl that Remus, Moony, had kissed in the glow of fairy-lights, and who had fallen asleep on him time and time again and saved him from his boggart,  _knew._

That was scarier than anything else in the world. It always came down to this; the finding out led to knowing, and the knowing led to leaving. They always left in the end. It was just a matter of time before Hermione left too.

But Remus felt his heart weep in his chest, and his eyes felt raw, because despite the fact that it had happened so often, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it this time. Not with Hermione.

“You nearly killed Sirius,” she said.

Remus inhaled sharply, and his face contorted in pain, as though the memory, or mere notion, of hurting his best friend hurt him. “I know.”

“But you didn’t kill me.”

Remus closed his eyes. “I know.”

“In fact, you let me go.”

He didn’t say anything.

Hermione remembered the look in the wolf’s eyes, the insecurity, like it didn’t really know why it was protecting her. She supposed it didn’t.

Then why was she alive?

“You can leave,” Remus said. “If you want. They all do, leave, in the end…”

Hermione stared at her hands, which were resting in her lap. She didn’t really know what she was thinking. Her mind, yet again, failed her. The one thing that stood out, was the agony in his voice as he said it.  _You can leave if you want. They all do._

She flung back her covers, swinging her legs out of her bed, and padding the short distance over to Remus. There, she sat on the chair that Sirius had occupied, and held both of Remus’ hands in hers. They were warm, impossibly hot. Slowly, but surely, so he knew that she meant every word, Hermione said, “I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever.”

Remus wrenched his hands away, averting his eyes, which were wet. His face was tight, and Hermione could feel her own tears. There was so much shame in him, in the bow of his head, in the set of his jaw, in the downcast of his eyes, in his voice, which shook as he said, “I’m a monster.”

She recoiled.

It struck her then how strange this whole thing truly was. How could someone so beautiful, so harmoniously in tune with people and the world, be a monster?

Hermione shook her head adamantly, vehemently, and her curls bounced. The hair stuck to the wetness of her cheeks.

“You are not a monster, Remus Lupin.”

And his face crumpled. A wretched sob tore from his throat, and she was overwhelmed by how human the sound was. There was so much self-hatred and sadness and desolation in that one noise, that she reached for his cheeks, forcibly turning his face, which he was trying to hide away, to face her.

Hermione stared at him, into him. This close, she could see the slight dusting of freckles, faint across the pale skin of his nose and cheeks. His eyelashes were long and light brown, to match his hair, and his eyes were glazed over, iridescent with a fresh wave of unshed tears that broke every time he blinked.

He was beautiful and he was broken and Hermione kissed him.

This time, the kiss was different. It was wet and messy and her hands cupped his cheeks firmly, holding him in place. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt his internal struggle reverberate into her. Even though his confliction was stark, he still kissed her back. Their lips slid over one another, quickly and then slowly, hard and then soft. It was a kiss of so many opposites, and it felt like fireworks- no, explosions booming behind her eyelids, because that is what happens when opposites collide.

His tongue flicked out, and he took control of the kiss. His hands held her head and Hermione could feel the tears still falling, though she wasn’t sure whose they were anymore. They all tasted the same, and it was that fiery taste of misery and heartbreak that fuelled their passion.

For Remus, the sensation of her lips gliding, slipping, over his somehow managed to silence everything else. It was as if she somehow managed to silence every single demon that screamed inside his mind.

And so Remus kissed her, like his sanity depended upon it.

And who knew? Maybe it did.

But he was never known for his sanity. The beast inside howled night and day. It was never silenced.

He pulled away hastily, retracting his hands and looking away. Hermione caught her breath, and she couldn’t help but stare at the pinkness of his lips. They matched the rims of his eyes.

“That’s why I eat it,” he said quietly. Hermione looked at him, ignoring how congealed and wet her eyelashes were, ignoring the throbbing of her mouth and the pulsing of her heart.

“What?”

“Chocolate,” Remus elaborated. He seemed just as affected as she was. “That’s why I eat it. Do you remember how I told you it was poisonous to dogs?”

“Yes…” Hermione said, and her confusion as to where this was headed was obvious. Then her face cleared, and her mouth dropped to from an ‘o’ shape. “You eat it to kill the wolf inside of you.”

Remus tried to smile, but he was crying silently. “It hasn’t worked yet.”

And she was startled at this boy sat in front of her. He was a living circuit of haywires and sparking edges, of static nerves and electrical charges, of heart and mind and Remus Lupin hated every part of it. There was so much hatred in his eyes, in his soul, and yet not one ounce of it was directed at the world.

No, his hatred was purely for himself.

And Hermione couldn’t bear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of its characters of the universe (unfortunately). If I did, you can guarantee there would be 7 books and films on the Marauders by now, and maybe even a real life Hogwarts. (I'd make a GREAT celebrity!)
> 
> James was very angry in this one... I had that planned as Sirius at first, but after being attacked, he would probably be rather subdued... AND I PROMISE I DIDN'T PLAN ON WRITING ANOTHER KISS! I just got caught up in the writing and I thought, 'She'd totally kiss him now.' It's like a thing that most good characters have- they can't bear to see weakness and so they alleviate it in any way they can (for example every time Katniss kisses Gale in the Hunger Games- there's passion there, sure, but it takes him being in pain for her to initiate it.) 
> 
> But this kiss was totally necessary which I didn't realise at first. It puts his anguish into an even better perspective, I think but that's just my opinion. 
> 
> Also a few choice swears/: -I actually hate swearing, but in writing, if I feel it's in character for them to swear, then they're going to swear, whether I like it or not. And there is absolutely no way that James would not swear if both Hermione and Sirius AND Remus were put in harm's way because of her mistake.
> 
> Anyway remember!! Please leave a review! I'm thinking of updating tomorrow, but only if I get enough reviews (blackmail mwahah!).
> 
> So... as always- favourite line? Or paragraph? Or phrase?


	26. Chapter 26- The Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: apparently I don't own Harry Potter because my name isn't JKRowling. If I did, you can guarantee our boys would have gotten happier endings than what they did because I couldn't dream of hurting them (*casually ignores all of the pain and torment I'm putting them through and I'm planning to put them through*)

Chapter 26- The Circle

Hermione stared at him and the air between them felt black, poisoned even. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face, and every bruise, she traced. The question burned her lips, and her mouth tasted bitter even after she’d said it.

“How did you do it?”

Bewildered, Remus asked, “What?”

Hermione dragged her eyes to his. The amber in them swirled unsurely.

“You let me go,” she elaborated.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“Remus, you should’ve killed me,” she said quietly. It was something that had haunted her. During the night, when she’d tried to sleep, the sight of the wolf pushing her away, the feel of its drool on her forehead, the indecision in its eyes, had kept her awake. “But you didn’t… You- you pushed me away, back to the castle-”

“It wasn’t me!”

Hermione’s expression turned incredulous as she asked, “Then what-?”

“ _It was the wolf.”_

Remus’ voice sounded ragged, and his eyebrows pulled together. He seemed to be struggling with something, maybe the concept, maybe the fact that she was still alive after meeting Moony. He spoke slowly, and hesitantly, and each word was halted and pronounced with a far more effort than what was required to speak. “I saw you… and I wanted to kill you, Hermione.”

She simply stared at him, taken aback by this brutal honesty. It wasn’t every day you kissed someone, only for them to tell you that they had wanted to kill you hours before.

“I saw you… and I felt this burning rage all the way through me, like I was being set on fire… I couldn’t control myself… As soon as you stepped out of the castle… I knew you were there. I don’t know how- it was like I could sense you,” Remus said uncertainly. “That’s not normally how it works. I can never sense people… I can smell them, or hear them, or see them, but I never feel it… here.”

He pointed to the middle of his chest.

“It was like an ache, like it would continue to hurt if I didn’t follow it. So I did… And it led me to you.”

Hermione couldn’t breathe; she was enraptured. Never before had she heard or read of a werewolf experiencing something like this. Her mind was on overdrive. She hated not knowing things, not having every blank space filled in, completed, but that was the case here. Remus clearly had no idea what had happened. He was unnerved, ashamed slightly.

He continued, “When I saw you, I wanted to hurt you at first. And I would’ve done, but then Sirius-” Remus broke off, and he looked down. His throat, tightly coiled, bobbed. She could see his pulse, beating errantly, and watched it, for the expression on his face was too painful to look at. “When I came back to you, I tried it again, but I- I couldn’t hurt you Hermione. I don’t know why or how! But it was that same feeling, in here… It was like my  _magic_  wouldn’t allow me to.”

Hermione stared at him. “ _Your magic_?”

Remus sighed, tipping his head back and he said in a defeated voice, “That’s what it felt like. I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly ‘ _all there’_  at the time.”

He gazed up at the ceiling, pulling the blankets further up his body, and it was only then that Hermione noticed how  _tired_ he was. There were no words to describe the look on his face, only that he was done. Completely.

Done with Moony. Done with people. Done with the Full Moon. Done with talking. Done with explaining. Done with her.

She licked her lips, which were dry and cracked, and moved away. Hermione paused, turning to look at him, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Remus didn’t even waver. “I know.”

**oOoOoO**

Hermione was released from the Hospital Wing later on that morning. When she left, Remus was curled up on himself, and she wasn’t sure whether he was avoiding her, or whether he was fast asleep.

Instead of heading towards the Common Room, she made her way towards the library, not feeling particularly ready to face James after his outburst. The anger in his voice still echoed through her, and she felt the relief overcome it when she passed over the threshold of the library. From the tall wooden bookcases, to the circular tables up and down each aisle, Hermione thought this place screamed home.

She had never felt more at peace.

Hermione quickly made her way over to the back of the library, glancing down each narrow row. There were few people here, as would be expected on a Sunday morning. She had no idea where to even begin looking, only that she had to start somewhere.

For hours, Hermione scanned every page of every book even remotely related to time travel, to magic, to the impossible. In all honesty, she didn’t even know what she was looking for. Her search left her more frustrated than before; all she did was clutch at straws, and by the time Sirius and Peter found her much later on, her hair was a frizzled mess of curls and anger and it looked as though she had been electrocuted. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and a frown constantly pulled her eyebrows together.

“Hermione!” Sirius announced when he saw her, ignoring the admonishing Madam Pince. Peter bounded behind him, grinning at the sight of her. Sirius opened his arms wide. “Here you are! Pomfrey said you’d been let out ages ago, but we hadn’t seen you… Should’ve known, really,” he added to Peter, eyeing the shelves on both sides, and then the growing pile of books beside her.

He strolled forward, fingers tracing the spine of the very top book of about twelve, and said, “Doing some light reading?”

She didn’t even look at him.

“Hermione?” Peter asked, and he moved to fall on the seat beside her. He swallowed at her silence, and Sirius shot him a questioning frown. Something sparked in his brain and he said softly, “A war’s broken out in my book. You know the one I was telling you about? It’s been building for a while, but the main character didn’t even realise. It was all there, swirling around him and he had no idea.” There was an abrupt insecurity to his voice. “But they’ll win in the end… Right?”

Hermione lifted her head and she looked at him. There was an indescribable youth to his face, and the wide set of his eyes gave the impression of vulnerability, of naivety. She smiled, nodding her head. “Right.”

Sirius watched them both. She turned to look at him, and there was a softness to her face.

Hermione thought about her boys. She felt so close, so intimately interwoven with every single one of them, even Peter, who she had held nothing more than hatred for in her own time. But here, now, in the past- or present, or whatever it was- she had nothing less than love for all of them.

It wasn’t even by choice. It was like something deep within her longed for them, and for their happiness. She didn’t know what it was, only that she had never felt more content than when she was with one of them, and she had never felt happier than when she saw them smile. All Hermione knew was that if something happened to any of her boys, she would literally go out of her mind. All the strings inside of her would break.

Sirius and Peter started talking about something trivial, wrongly assuming that Hermione was listening, but her mind was elsewhere. It was strange really, how strong of a bond they all had. It was confusing, and impossible.

But if there was one thing she had learnt, it was that nothing was ever really impossible.

_“I feel so much responsibility for her.”_

Peter let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach. Sirius pouted. The joke was obviously at his expense.

_“It feels like we’ve known her an eternity.”_

She stared at the floor.

_“It was like my magic wouldn’t allow me to.”_

"It's our magic."

Hermione’s voice was a hushed whisper. Her head shot up. The realisation, dawning on her mind, left her breathless. Sirius looked at her carefully.

“What?”

Her eyes darted to him. Then to Peter.

“It’s our magic,” she repeated.

“Yes, love, I heard you the first time. What does it mean?”

Hermione regarded him through wide eyes, and she felt her lips go dry. She licked them, leaning closer to him and Sirius cocked his head, slightly perturbed by her frenzy.

“You feel close to me, don’t you?” She said. Although it sounded like a question, she knew it to be true. “You’ve always felt it. As soon as I landed in the past, you felt like you knew me, even though, as far as you’re concerned we’d never met, right? Right?”

“Right,” Sirius said slowly. He shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t understand… Where is this going?”

Peter was staring at her with wide eyes, as though she had gone crazy. Hermione leaned back, and all she could do was stare as her mind buzzed. There was so much running though her brain, and it was all a loud river of revelation.

“It’s because we  _have_  met before,” she said.

Sirius’ face was cautious as he shook his head again and said, “Darling, I think I’d know if I met you before.”

“No. No, it’s not like that. You won’t remember it because it hasn’t happened yet!”

He reached and put a hand on her knee. “Hermione, you’re not making any sense.”

Peter glanced between them, and he seemed anxious. She couldn’t really blame him.

“You’re saying that we’ve met before but it hasn’t happened yet,” Sirius said. His face was tense. “That’s impossible. Even for magic.”

“No! No it’s not.” Hermione ran a hand through her hair. “Time- time isn’t a straight line. It’s a circle. There’s no definitive beginning and end. But when it comes to time, people are the boundaries. Magic has no boundaries, Sirius!”

“So you’re saying that the reason we all feel so close to you, this- this connection that we have… is because we’ve met each other… before now? In a different time?”

Hermione smiled and said, “In my time!”

Sirius bit his lip.

Peter raised his eyebrows, glancing between the two of them.

“I need to tell Remus,” she said, standing up suddenly. Without even looking back, she practically ran out of the library.

Sirius stood up to follow her, but paused. He watched her go in exasperation.

Peter shook his head and said mournfully, “I think she’s lost it. I think she’s finally lost it.”

Sirius smirked. “I think she lost it a long time ago, mate.”

**oOoOoOo**

"I know!” Hermione announced, bursting through the infirmary doors, exhilaration seeping from her pours and into the air. James was looking at her with an incredulous expression, as though she was a madwoman. Hermione briefly pondered why it was everyone looked at her like that. “I know why we’re close! I know why we feel like we’ve met before! It’s because we have! It’s our magic!”

Sirius and Peter traipsed in quickly, and they appeared out of breath. They both came to a halt when they noticed the shocked expressions on James and Remus’ faces. Sirius turned to Pete and said, “I think we’re too late.”

Peter winced.

“Hermione…” Remus began. “That’s virtually impossible.”

She let a wry smirk curl her lips. “Virtually,” she repeated. “But not completely. Magic is an essence. It's timeless... Infinite. That’s why it’s able to breach the boundaries of… well, everything. Because it isn’t confined to anything!”

Hermione turned to Remus, and there was bewilderment plastered across his face as he tried to understand.

“We’ve met before. You were my teacher, Remus. My Professor in my third year at Hogwarts,” she smiled at him. His eyes grew wide as galleons, and his mouth dropped open at the revelation that one day, far into the future, he would actually be teaching.

“I’ve wanted to be a teacher for as long as I can remember,” Remus said, in awe.

“You taught us vital information; the most useful spells I can think of. You’re responsible for my power… expanding, if you will- growing more powerful. It recognises that. I don’t know how, or even if it’s possible, but my magic… recognises you.”

She turned to Sirius, who was watching her carefully. Hermione smiled at him, and then faltered as the truth overwhelmed her. How could she explain without revealing what happened to them? She wasn’t ready to taint tomorrow for them. She couldn’t tell them that they grew up to be a corpse, a traitor, a convict and a monster collectively. She could never tell them that. It would destroy them.

Licking her lips, Hermione said cryptically, “I saved you from the Dementors’ Kiss.”

Sirius’ face drained of colour, and his jaw slackened. James looked furious.

It was Peter who stuttered, “W-what?”

She closed her eyes. “I- I’m sorry but I can’t-” Swallowing, Hermione looked directly at Sirius. He stared at her with a hollowing, confusing sadness. “Please just know that I’m not going to let that happen. I promise, Sirius. I promise with all my heart that I won’t let that happen to you.”

He didn’t break her gaze. He never wavered. “I believe you.”

She had to tear her eyes away from him, and focus her attention firmly on Peter, who looked frightened beyond belief, like he was going to dissipate into the air and fade away forever. “I saved your life. You were going to die… You were begging us, me…”

**_"Sweet girl... Clever girl... You, you won't let them... Help me..."_ **

Hermione winced, looking away and continued, “Your magic reached out to me, to all of us. I think it recognises that hope, that-”

“Gratitude,” Peter finished for her, and his voice was very small.

She didn’t say anything in reply. Instead, she looked at James, finally. Tears were falling and Hermione had to wipe them away quickly, hating that she was crying again. It felt like there wasn’t a day in the past that she hadn’t cried.

She knew exactly what happened with James. "Harry," Hermione whispered, smiling. "You had the same Patronus. You had the same magical signature. Part of your magic, and Lily's, was preserved and lived through Harry. We had met, James. Just not directly and not knowingly..."

The Marauders were silent, absorbing this information and she noticed that they were each deeply moved by it. James looked strained, and he was visibly holding back tears. His lips were sucked in and his face was contorted. His hand was locked on Sirius’ shoulder, and the knuckles were white from the tightness of his grip. It was as if he was trying to anchor him to the world. He did that a lot.

Sirius was staring at the floor. Remus didn’t seem to know how to react, and Peter was crying freely.

Hermione didn’t know what to do. She moved closer to Sirius, standing beside him and letting her head nestle into the crook of his shoulder. One of her arms she wrapped around his waist, hugging him to her.

“I still don’t understand,” Remus said shakily. “You’re from the future. All of these events, these… meetings… they haven’t happened yet.”

“Time isn’t a line!” Hermione exclaimed, and the excitement bubbled over into her voice. “It’s a circle! That means that everything that happened, or will happen, or is happening remains infinite! There’s no set place for the events. There’s no set time! If something happens, it applies to everything.”

Remus seemed to be deep in thought, and his eyes burned into her with a startling intensity. His face was blank as he said, “If time is a circle, if everything is infinite, then doesn’t that mean that you’ve already been here? That you were always meant to come back and be here? Doesn’t that mean that you can’t change anything? That everything in the universe is already set in stone?”

Hermione stared at him. She had never thought about that before. It had never even crossed her mind. She had only used the circle theorem to support the ideas she needed to express, but she had completely ignored the fact that it ruined every plan she was trying to put in motion here in the past.

But Remus was right. What if she had been here before? What if everything that was happening had happened before? What if everything in the universe was truly set in stone?

Hermione didn’t know the answer, and she felt sick to her stomach. She rested her head on Sirius’ chest and felt an irrevocable emptiness to her heart.

If that was true, then everything would be futile. People would die. And the world would burn.

She would let it burn.

And she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve seen a few questions as to why Hermione reacted like she did, especially as she’s faced Moony before in her third year. The reason why I wrote her this way is because of how I expected she would act if she knew Remus and Sirius better. The first time round, Remus was her Professor, and Sirius was a convict who had 2 hours previously been trying to kill someone. This time, she loves them both. She knows them. She would hate herself if anything happened to either one of them, and so to be placed in a position like that would terrify her. She wouldn’t fight him because it’s Remus. She wouldn’t try to help him because at the moment, there was nothing she could do.
> 
> The only thing Hermione could do, logically, was run to safety. She knew that Moony wouldn’t hurt Padfoot if she left.
> 
> This chapter is different I guess? It’s quite significant and explains how and why they feel the way they do. I decided to play around with time and magic in this and question the boundaries because I can;)
> 
> Please PLEASE PLEASSEEE review! I cannot possibly express (though I have tried and failed many a time) how happy they make me. They’re so lovely it’s unreal! I could never have expected this amount of support and love from you all. As long as you want me, I’ll continue writing:)
> 
> In fact, I have an important question for you: What has been your favourite moment or line or phrase in the entire fic so far? I guess, the one that struck you, or stuck with you. I'm rather curious, and I love seeing what you guys like (whether it's the funny comic relief parts or the deep gritty stuff!). Depending on how many I get depends on whether or not I'll try update tomorrow- Yes, I am that desperate for your opinions aha!
> 
> Have a lovely day! Or night!
> 
> Everliah


	27. Chapter 27- The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot shorter than all the others and I've read it through a few times, but it's very important in terms of moving the story along and certain character relationships. I have a feeling you guys are going to like this one;)
> 
> Enjoy!!

** Chapter 27- The Beginning **

****

The next day, they were sat in the Great Hall, laughing and helping themselves to the food laid out before them. Remus had been let out of the infirmary earlier that morning, and his arm was supported by a sling. His face was still bruised and scratched, and at the sight of him, there was a hush of speculation that washed over the hall. Hermione didn’t understand why he didn’t just ask Madam Pomfrey for a Skelegrow potion. She noticed him wince as he moved for an apple, but kept her lips sealed.

After last night, each of them had gone to sleep feeling heavier than usual, and the morning had brought about a sense of silence to the whole matter. No one talked about it, and no one seemed willing to bring it up. So they didn’t. They acted as though nothing was wrong, and everything was dandy, and their entire world still had the chance to be saved.

And that belief lasted a total of seventeen minutes, when a tormented scream burst through the chatter.

Hermione’s head twisted in the direction of the sound. A Hufflepuff girl, with fair hair and pale skin, was wailing, sobbing at her table. There was an owl shuffling on the plate in front of her, largely unconcerned with the whole ordeal. The students all stared. None of them seemed to move.

A teacher (Hermione missed which one) swept down towards the screaming girl, ushering her out of the hall. The doors slammed shut behind them. There was silence.

“Janet Brown,” James said. He licked his lips, and his eyes were wide behind his glasses. The other four looked at him. “Her mum’s an Unspeakable. She worked with my dad once.”

“I wonder what happened to her,” Remus said, and they all returned to staring at the brown owl on the Hufflepuff table. It seemed the students around it were reluctant to shoo it away, and so the bird pecked at some of the uneaten food on Janet Brown’s plate.

Peter swallowed, and he looked ill as he said, “I’m not sure I want to know.”

Hermione turned back to her breakfast. She hadn’t eaten much, but the food was suddenly unappetising, and she felt bile crawl up her throat at the sight of it. Sirius, who was sat opposite her, leaned forward.

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked. When she shook her head, he grinned, helping himself to her bacon.

And even as the din of conversation slowly but surely grew and encompassed her, and the day resumed as normal, Hermione couldn’t get the little girl’s face out of her mind, nor that scream that seemed to reverberate through her bones.

**oOoOoOo**

Hermione couldn’t deny the fact that she was extremely thankful for her free period after lunch. Her homework had started to surge, and she retreated to the Room of Requirement to get some peace and quiet.

The room, as always, took on the shape of the library and living space that she always wished for, with high shelves, filled to the brim with books of all widths and topics, and a couple of settees with plush cushions and blankets. Hermione fell back onto one of these, a loud sigh flowing from her lips. She had forgotten how stressful school was, but she had also forgotten how much she thrived off of the thrill of learning.  

The door opened suddenly, and Hermione turned around to see Sirius strolling in. He looked happy, and life practically thrummed from the straight set of his shoulders and lazy grin that transformed his handsome face.

“Well hello there, Sunshine,” he said, grinning widely at her. Hermione let herself smile back.

“Free period?” She asked, as he slumped down on the armchair to the right of her.

“Yes, thank God,” Sirius sighed. His eyes closed. His lips were still curled. Seconds later, he shot into action, sitting up and retrieving a textbook from his bag.

Hermione watched him curiously, a slight smile on her face. He caught sight of this, and froze. “What?”

She shook her head and said softly, “It’s just strange.”

“What is?”

“Knowing that self-proclaimed resident bad boy is really a huge nerd,” she said, and her smile morphed into a smirk.

Sirius’ face twisted into one of deep offence. He clutched a hand to his heart and replied scathingly, “For your information, I  _am_  a bad boy. I’m like, the baddest bad boy there ever was-”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and her laughs became silent wheezes as she gasped for breath. She waved her hand at him to stop talking. Sirius broke off, grinning.

She tipped her head back, watching him through half-lidded eyes, and said breathlessly, “You’re such a dork.”

His face softened to a small smile and he said quietly, “I like learning. I like bettering myself. That’s kinda the point of life and the progression of it. Besides, I don’t wanna be kicked of out this place.”

Hermione sobered up at that, and she offered him a quick smile in reply, before they both turned to their books. And yet, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. His final words echoed around her brain, and she raised her eyes to him.

His face was still purple and grey from his midnight escapade with Moony, and it emphasised the blackness of his eyes. Faint stubble clung to his jawline. Hermione did not think she had ever seen someone so beautiful.

She could not help but compare him to Remus. They were so different, from every freckle to individual eyelash, nothing about them was the same, or even similar. One, was a smudge, a galaxy of celestial mist that seemed invisible upon first glance but the more you looked at it, at Remus, the more you could see the detail, the indescribable, perhaps unassuming beauty. Sirius, on the other hand, was a supernova of colossal audacity. He was an explosion of feeling and anger and love and power, and there were so many things that screamed at you when you let your eyes linger for just a second.

Remus was quiet, like a whisper in the wind, but Sirius  _was_  the wind.

And yet, they both breathed stardust and shattered constellations well beyond their ability and Hermione knew, just by looking at them and seeing them smile, that they were galaxies of  _something_ , trapped inside a prison of flesh and crumbling bone.

It made sense for them to be so drawn to one another.

She said quietly, “Why?”

Sirius looked up, surprised. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to be kicked out of Hogwarts?”

His expression faltered, but he continued to stare at her as he said, “Because I don’t want to go back home.”

She felt her eyes grow hot but she didn’t cry. Instead, wordlessly, Hermione held out her hand to him. Sirius sighed, and the sound was heavy, like a burden passing through his lips, but he stood up anyway and walked towards her, taking her hand and letting her pull him down next to her.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, snuggling into him. He rested his chin on her forehead.

“They weren’t horrible people, you know,” he said. His voice was a broken whisper. She held her breath to accommodate it. “My parents. They weren’t always awful. Once they were… nice, loving even. Then, when I turned six, I started playing with a Muggle girl who lived down the street.” Sirius was frowning, and a fleeting smile stole across his face. It was gone before she could blink. “My Mother didn’t like that. That was when the shouting started. And then when I refused to cut her from my life, the beatings started.”

Hermione craned her neck back to look up at him. His eyes were glossy and wet. She didn’t want to hear the rest of the story.

“I still snuck out to see her. And Mother always found out. I don’t know how- she probably had a tracking device and camera on me, the crazy bitch.” He tried to laugh but the sound was choked. “I didn’t stop seeing her. She was my best friend. What did it matter to me if she was a Muggle? But it mattered to my Mother…” Sirius stared off into the distance and his eyes were darker than Hermione had ever seen them.

“I remember coming home one day from visiting my Uncle Alphard… and I remember seeing the police and fire brigade. It was the first thing I saw… There’d been a freak accident, they said. A fire. It had killed Isabelle’s entire family.” He was crying and she couldn’t hold back the tears either. His voice broke, catching on words. “She was seven… And my Mother had set her on fire. I broke into their house that night and managed to save this-”

Sirius reached up to his neck, and pulled out a golden chain. It was a little locket, simple and modest. He smiled, caressing it with the pad of his thumb. “It was hers.”

Hermione, crying silently, let her fingers hold his face in her hands. She tilted his head down to look at her. His eyes were red, and his eyelashes were dark and congealed. He was trying desperately to hold it together.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

She leaned up, brushing her lips against his. It was warm, soft, tender, and then there was only empty space between them

“Not it’s not,” Sirius whispered back. His eyes were still closed.

Hermione swallowed. There was a lump in her throat and a fire in her lungs. “No, but it will be.”

And she pushed herself up again to recapture his lips. His hand came up to hold her cheek, and he moved his mouth over hers smoothly, glidingly. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, dipping into her mouth and Hermione felt her eyelids flutter. He stopped for a moment, pulling back slightly. His eyes were still closed.

“What?” whispered Hermione.

There was a crease between his eyebrows but he shook his head. “Nothing.”

And he kissed her harder. She felt like she was exploding. Again and again and again. Sirius was truly a supernova. The kiss reflected that; it was a whirlwind of heat and energy and emotion, and he kissed her desperately. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

The door burst open.

They leapt apart as though they had been burnt.

James appeared out of nowhere, and as soon as he caught sight of the two of them, he rushed over, throwing himself over the top of the second settee. He didn’t seem to notice their flushed cheeks or pink lips. They were still tangled in one another, but neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to.

A long, loud groan left his lips and he tipped his head back, a pained expression clear on his face.

“She’s gonna kill me,” James moaned and he flung an arm over his eyes. “She’s gonna be the death of me!”

Hermione exchanged a perturbed glance with Sirius. If there was one person who could kill the mood this effectively, it was James. “Er, who exactly are we talking about?”

“ _Lily_!”

Hermione shook her head, a huffed laugh leaving her. Sirius snorted and said, “We predicted that long ago, Prongs. Ever since third year when you stayed up all night, announcing you were in love-”

Hermione laughed loudly, and James shot up, his cheeks red. He glanced at her and then at Sirius and said, “Alright, we don’t have to go into details, Pad.”

Sirius grinned.

“Why?” Hermione asked, steering the conversation back to where it started, a smile present in her voice. “What’s she done?”

James’ eye bugged out of his head. “The question, Hermione, is what  _hasn’t_  she done!”

She was perplexed.

He then added miserably, “Or what  _I_  haven’t done.”

Sirius shook his head and said, “Wait a minute, is this for that ball thingy? You’ve got to plan it, right?”

“Plan it, execute it, run it, decorate it, do it, dance it, be there… show up.” James’ voice gradually became glummer.

“Something tells me you don’t like dancing,” Hermione commented, smirking.

He perked up. “Oh, I love dancing! It’s just the work, and the effort, and the fact that Lils sounds like a banshee when she’s angry.” He mimicked her, and she was surprised to hear it was a surprisingly good imitation. “ _’James Potter, have you found the garlands yet? James, where are the Christmas trees?’_ ” He dropped back into his own voice. “I don’t know, Lily dearest, I thought you were getting them.  _‘No, you were supposed to get them! At least tell me you transfigured the decorations?_ ’ No, my flower, I was unaware I had any decorations to transfigure. ‘ _Oh dear God! Must I do everything myself!?_ ’”

James flumped further down into the cushions and moaned dramatically, “If this carries on, I won’t need to transfigure any decorations. She can just use my rotting corpse!”

Hermione couldn’t contain her laughter, and it erupted from her lips. She clutched onto Sirius, and closed her eyes, relinquishing to the power of her mirth. Sirius eyed his friend distastefully and said, “I refuse to have this negativity within my eyesight. Remove yourself at once.”

James shot him a look. “Talk about kicking a bloke whilst he’s down!”

“I’ll do a lot more than kick.”

He pulled a face. “It wouldn’t be the first time that my life’s been jeopardised today,” he said, raising his eyebrows at them. “Remus nearly knocked me out with that bloody sling of his.”

“Why doesn’t Remus just ask for some Skelegrow?” Hermione asked, frowning. Sirius raised an eyebrow. “For his arm. Wouldn’t Madam Pomfrey have offered him some?”

He chewed on his lip, and then looked away as he said, “She did.”

Hermione didn’t take her eyes off of him. “Then why is he wearing a sling?”

“Because he rejected it.”

“What?” She questioned incredulously. “Why? Broken bones are painful! It must be agony for him!”

Sirius swallowed. Hermione felt his chest move. “That’s the point.”

James was watching them both carefully.

“I don’t understand-”

“One thing you should know about Remus,” Sirius said and his voice was deceptively steady, “is that when he believes he deserves something, he will stop at nothing to ensure he has been punished for whatever it is he did wrong.”

“But he didn’t do anything!” She exclaimed.

“Hermione… being bitten is reason enough,” James added, and his voice seemed aggrieved.

She shook her head, looking between the two of them. Her cheeks grew hotter when she realised how close she was to Sirius. Her frustration didn’t help. “But that’s ridiculous! Surely he’s not suffering because he thinks he deserves it!”

“You don’t think we know that?” demanded Sirius, almost as heatedly as he had been when he was kissing her. Maybe more so. “You think it doesn’t kill us to watch him _suffer_ and _hate_ himself?”

Hermione stared at him, shocked into silence and James looked at her pityingly. “Don’t say anything to him. We’ve tried. Trust me. It’s best to let him do what he wants with things like this.”

She looked at them both, leaning back into Sirius’ arms, leaving the conversation. How could he feel that way? He had to know that it wasn’t his fault? That none of this was his fault? How could Remus blame himself for being bitten? How could he  _punish_  himself for it?

Her mind wandered off, into the clutches of oblivion and a snippet of a conversation from that morning was whispered to her.

**_“Janet Brown,” James said. “Her mum’s an Unspeakable. She worked with my dad once.”_ **

“Hermione?”

She jumped. Sirius was looking down at her with something close to concern in his dark eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. Hermione turned to look at James.

“That little girl this morning,” she said quietly. Her tongue felt heavy, and she hesitated in continuing. But curiosity prevailed. “What happened to her?”

James’ face grew ashen, and he sat up abruptly. His eyes flicked to the floor, to his hands, to the side, and then back to her. He licked his lips. “She got a letter. From the Ministry this morning. Both her parents were found dead in their home. The Dark Mark was over their house…”

Hermione felt sick. She felt sick to her bones, and she was vaguely aware of Sirius’ hand slipping into her, fingers locking into her gaps, bolting 

her down to earth.

“I’m guessing you know what that is, then.”

She almost laughed. Almost. Yes, she did know what that was. The ghostly skull and snake emblem flashed across her mind, tinted grey and black and green. The sight was terrifying.

“She was twelve years old,” James continued. His voice was trembling and weak. “She was just twelve years old, and now both her parents are dead. Tortured into insanity, then killed- that’s what my dad said… What kind of fucked up person would do a thing like that?”

And there was only one face that presented itself to Hermione, and he was smiling, hissing, snarling. She could feel his rancid breath hot upon her cheeks, and his red eyes glowed with the promise of death and destruction.

Numbly, Hermione whispered, “There’s only one person it could be…”

The air stilled. Nobody breathed. They all knew the answer anyway.

_“Voldemort.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The Beginning...
> 
> Bit of an abstract title for this chapter as usually, I like to keep my chapter titles short and succinct;) But this refers to the beginning of the war. This is the first act of war. I dont know if any of you picked up on the slight foreshadowing last chapter, where Peter was trying to get Hermione's attention? 
> 
> Well, Kudos if you did. I didn't make it too obvious, because I don't want to give loads away before it's happened, just in case I change my mind. I do have a set idea for the ultimate plot line (something I dont think has happened before in any fanfic I've ever read!) so I can't wait for that!!
> 
> THIS HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING FOR YOU HERMIONE/SIRIUS FANS! SO HERE YOU GO! I'M SO SORRY FOR NEGLECTING YOU AND TEASING YOU! THIS IS FOR YOU!
> 
> James just had to interrupt! I hope this kiss is okay! I wanted to write another like the previous two, but there are only so many poetic ways to describe kissing and I have never even kissed anyone like that?? So all my knowledge comes from books I've read and a helpful list off Tumblr that is for writers trying to write a kiss and do the emotion justice. With this kiss, it was all about the feeling and the speech. The others, it was about the emotion, in terms of context at the time (i.e. Remus' confession with lycanthropy- Hermione crying about Harry and Ron).
> 
> Just a quick thing, though- Hermione is in no way a tart or whatever you want to call her, and this is not a love triangle. She might be having interactions between both Sirius and Remus at the moment, but she's close to all of them and these boys are the solid foundations of a safe haven for her, after fighting in a war, so it makes sense for her to be so intimate with them. Plus, we are 27 chapters and roughly 80,000 words in so I have the right to switch and swap! But yes, please remember that I'm trying not to make it where she flits from one to the other. She loves them all equally at the moment... Who knows where that could go in the future?
> 
> (And 80,000 words???? I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR- I could never have done it without you!)
> 
> As always, favourite line? Favourite phrase? Favourite character? Favourite scence? I don't even know! Just tell me absolutely anything you want to:) 
> 
> Hope you're all doing well!
> 
> Everliah


	28. Chapter 28- The Catalyst

Chapter 28- The Catalyst

 

They stayed there until the bell rang, signalling the last lesson of the day. Luckily, James and Sirius were both in her class, and they all meandered through the halls, dejected and unfocused, and neither the bustle of students nor provocation of Transfiguration could sway them from their thoughts.

Hermione entered the classroom, trying hard to let the buzz of school overwhelm her. It was strange. The stark contrast between this happiness and the hollowing feeling that had bubbled in her stomach at the realisation that something was starting here.

Something bigger than everything else.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Sirius stared at the back of her head.

His eyes couldn't seem to look at anything, anyone, else. His head was dark but light, and it was giving him a migraine, but he didn't want to focus on whatever it was McGonagall was talking about.

His lips tingled. Sirius still felt shocked, almost disengaged from the world. She had kissed him. Hermione had kissed him. Her lips had touched his, and he had held her, closer than usual. And he hadn’t wanted to let her go. Not ever.

_She must be something._

Sirius closed his eyes.

He’d never told anyone about Isabelle. How could anyone understand? It wasn’t that important to other people- why would a muggle girl who died in a house fire mean anything to anyone else? But to Sirius, she meant everything.

She was one of those people that you remembered like she was from a dream. He couldn’t remember her fully. He couldn’t remember the colour of her eyes, or her favourite thing in the world. But there was something distinctive about her, something real. Where Isabelle was supposed to be in his memory, there was a red haze of smoke and ash, and the fringing of the moment was strained and angry. When he looked back on it, Sirius didn’t see it as anything other than the death of a little girl who didn’t deserve to die. A little girl who died because of him.

But now, after letting the story drip from his lips for the very first time, he wondered whether it was the moment where everything began to go wrong. The catalyst, the starting point, for his life of sorrows.

He stared at the back of her head, eyes tracing the curls. He didn’t know why he’d told Hermione about Isabelle.

He had never even told James.

He didn’t know why she had kissed him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

The ghost of her lips, warm and tender, on his, eliciting feelings Sirius hadn’t even known that he had, lingered still. He wanted to kiss her again.

_She must be something._

 And Hermione  _was_ something. She was from the future, for Merlin’s sake! As if that wasn’t reason enough! But she was also real. Too real that it hurt sometimes, and just being near her scorched him. There was something so magical about her, like if he got close enough, she would electrocute him with everything good inside of her. Sirius wasn’t sure whether this was just his imagination.

She sparked to him, like fireworks, or explosions.

“Isn't that right, Sirius?” McGonagall’s voice cut through everything, wrenching him back into the present. He blinked at her, and Hermione trickled through and out of the sieve of his brain.

But Sirius was a professional with these things. He always switched off in class, and somehow, every single time, he managed to play it off. He nodded his head wisely and said, “Oh, of course. Absolutely. 100% certifiably correct.”

“What is?”

Sirius paused. “What you just said.”

“And what exactly did I just say?” McGonagall asked archly.

His eyes widened. “You weren't listening either?”

Her lips pursed and she turned away from him, admonishingly. “Do try to pay attention, next time, Sirius.”

 He tipped his head back, letting it dangle over the back of the chair in defeat. James kicked him under the table, eyebrows furrowed and questioning. Sirius shrugged.

Remus stared at him from the next desk over. He mouthed, cocking his head, “ _Where did you go?_ ”

Sirius offered a soft half-smile and mouthed back, “ _Nowhere special_.”

**oOoOoOo**

The corridors swarmed with students, and the five of them were spread across the span of the hallway. Hermione walked between James and Sirius, and she was laughing at something Peter had said. They walked slowly, dawdling and cherishing the end of the school day. James was strolling casually, hands lingering in his pockets. Sirius was grinning, but his eyes kept glancing to the girl next to him, and every inch of space separating them was an inch too much. He saw her hand, the one closest to him, dangling by her leg and he wanted to reach out and hold it.

But he didn’t. Sirius licked his lips.

All of a sudden, James went flying into Hermione. His arms waved above his head wildly, catching on her hair, and his glasses spun off his nose. A sickening crack could be heard. He winced.

“Watch where you’re going, you dick.”

Hermione steadied James. Sirius turned to look at the culprit, and glared at the boy. He looked to be in his fourth year, with a blue Ravenclaw tie. His face was narrow and long, and he was pale with straw coloured hair. Brown beady eyes scowled at the Gryffindors and Hermione thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“ _You_  walked into  _us_ ,” Remus said steely, jumping in to reply before Sirius could.

The boy sneered, turning to James, who was squinting blindly. His glasses were somewhere on the floor. “Control your pet, won’t you James?”

Hermione looked between the two of them carefully. Peter scuttled off to retrieve the glasses, which had skidded down the corridor.

“He’s not my pet,” James said, and his voice was calm. He didn’t take the glasses that Pete offered, merely stared at the Ravenclaw. “His name is Remus and I’d appreciate it if you treated him with respect.”

“Oh my god,” the boy groaned scathingly. He glared at James. “You’re so full of shit!”

James sighed and said with force, “Barty, just stop.”

“Crouch, why don’t you fuck off, huh?” Sirius said, anger applying an edge to his words.

Barty? Crouch? Hermione frowned, her head spinning.

The answer hit her suddenly, and it felt as though she had been winded. She knew exactly who Barty Crouch was.

“Keep out of this Black! It has nothing to do with you!”

“To hell with it has nothing to do with me!” Sirius replied, almost as if what Crouch said had been the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “James’ business is my business, Junior. Get your little fourth year brain around that, won’t you?”

Crouch’s eyes widened, and he looked livid. His face was white as he gritted out, “Don’t call me Junior.”

Holding his arms out wide, Sirius asked mockingly, “And what are you going to do about it? Junior?”

Hermione wanted to slap a hand to her forehead. Even she could see the warning signs, flashing every colour under the sun. It seemed like Sirius sometimes  _asked_  for confrontation. Like he had a sign on his forehead that was flashing and singing, saying “ _Fight me_.”

Crouch started forward, rage booming from his pores. His eyes were locked solely on Sirius, and as he lifted his wand up, an undoubtedly nasty curse forming on his lips, he missed the second boy coming towards him.

James raised his arm, fist clenched, and propelled it around, punching Crouch straight in the cheek. He whipped his arm back, howling in pain and swearing like a sailor. Hermione’s eyes widened at his choice of language.

Crouch staggered back, clutching his face. When he brought his hand down, his shock was evident. The hatred was almost palpable in the air. Face contorted, he snapped, “You’re just a bragging, pompous little rat!”

“I never brag!” James gasped.

Remus frowned at him and said, “You once called your face the proof of God’s existence.”

“It’s not bragging if it’s true!”

Remus sucked his lips in, as if he couldn’t quite believe his friend sometimes but he chose not to reply as this really wasn’t the time to have  _that_  conversation.

“This isn’t over, Potter,” Crouch drawled, backing away.

James spread his arms wide. “Hey, anytime, mate. That one black eye looks a little lonely.”

Crouch snarled at him one last time, before spinning around and striding down the corridor. His shoulders were slightly deflated, but there was a signature cockiness to his walk.

“Just cause his dad’s a big hotshot in the Ministry, he thinks he owns the place. Look at his strut!” James pointed out, sulking. His face slumped. “He’s not even doing it right.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Sirius’ face was tense, and he commented, “I hate that prick.”

She shot him a look for his language, and he muttered an apology, turning away from her.

“What’s your relationship with him?” She asked, redirecting her attention to James.

He frowned, finally taking his glasses off of Peter, and staring at the cracked lens. Hermione raised an eyebrows before tapping the glass with her finger. It smoothed over immediately, looking as though it had never been broken at all; seven years with Harry had that spell imprinted in her brain. James slid them onto his nose, blinking a few times as he said, “We have a love-hate relationship. Only minus the love.”

“I meant how do you know him?” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“He’s like a- a second cousin, twice removed,” James replied, and his distaste was pungent in the air, and made obvious by the wrinkle of his nose. “Figuratively of course.”

“That’s funny. In my family, you’re removed literally,” Sirius said mildly.

Hermione shot him a look. He didn’t seem upset by this information, but said it as though he were commenting on the weather, with a refreshing outlook on life, as though it had been promising to snow for days, and had only just delivered.

They all continued walking once more.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Remus commented suddenly, to no one in particular. They looked at him.

James sighed. “Great. C’mon then, Moony. Bestow upon us the thing you were yet again right about.”

Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, he elaborated, “When I said you go in fists flying when things don’t go your way.”

Sirius gaped. “I didn’t go in ‘ _fists flying’_! James did!”

James cringed, rubbing his knuckles and he leaned forward to peer around Peter. “Yeah, and it bloody hurt too!”

Pete shoved his head, and James toppled backwards. There was another recognisable crack and his face dropped miserably. Hermione held her hand out, biting back a smile at his bad luck, and he obediently handed her his glasses for her to fix once more.

“Today is just not my day!” He wailed. “I honestly don’t see how it could get any worse!”

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Naturally, every time that sentence is spoken, whether it be aloud or in one’s head, the universe conspires to prove just how worse the day, or thing, in question could get.

For James, it took all of the ten minutes for them to walk back to the Common Room. He forgot to savour the happiness of his best friends. Maybe he should’ve done.

They stepped over the threshold laughing, but the silence inside swamped them instantly.

Peter, eyes wide, said jokingly, “You’d have thought someone had died in here.”

There were no chuckles. No smiles. Hermione felt everything go cold.

The world drained of colour, and Marlene, ashen and washed out, stood up from her seat on the sofa. The Daily Prophet was clutched tightly in her hand. When she got close enough, she held it out for them.

Hermione’s eyes scanned the front page. Her mouth dropped and her heart stopped beating.

Five Ministry workers had been found hanging from the golden statue in the Ministry of Magic. They were a mixture of men and women, young and old. And they were dead.

She wasn’t a stranger to war. She knew the build-up, the slow, almost agonising months of attacks, becoming more and more frequent, closer and closer to home. She knew the terror; the unnecessary anger, the fear that infected like a fever, running through bloodstreams, drinking people dry of anything, everything, else.

Yes, Hermione knew what war was. She knew how it started, and she knew how it went. The only thing she never knew, was how it would end.

She could feel it now. Now that she had become aware to the situation, Hermione could feel it in the air everywhere she went. The tension, the flickers of suffocation that threatened to engulf everyone. She couldn't see it before; she had been so blinded by her own problems, by the aching of her heart for Harry and Ron, by the sheer happiness the Marauders gifted her with, by the colossal weight of the world on her shoulders.

Hermione had completely overlooked the apprehension on the students' faces, and the deep lines that all the teachers had come to wear, and the way that an eerie hush would fall over the Great Hall every morning when the mail came.

She missed the future. She missed her past. She missed Harry's eyes and Ron's grin and Ginny's stubbornness and Neville's bumbling. Hell, she even missed Luna and all of her stories on Wrackspurts!

But by God, Hermione thought, with a sinking feeling in her gut... She did not miss this.

“No!” James uttered. His eyes were wet, and his voice was broken. “No, this isn’t right. This isn’t coincidental! They’re going after the Ministry- after people in the Ministry, high up people.” He stressed every word, and the veins in his neck pulsed. He was so close to sobbing. “My dad works there! He could be next! He’s worked with all these people! He could be-”

“James,” Lily cut through everything. She moved towards him, and he broke off abruptly, staring at her with an avid desperation. She didn’t take her eyes away from his, as she slipped her hand into his hand, interlocking their fingers. “C’mon.”

Lily led him out of the Common Room, and the place seemed silent without them. Hermione hadn’t realised they were so close, but she supposed the Heads Meetings had helped improve their friendship. She was glad that Lily, at least, would be able to make him feel better; the girl with the red hair sprouted flowers from her lips.

Nobody seemed to know what to do, or how to react, of even if they should.

Sirius was staring at the floor, and his face was precariously blank. Remus noticed.

“Padfoot?”

The boy (and in that moment, he looked very much like a boy- young, and vulnerable and scared) looked up and then he looked away, before disappearing into their dormitory.

Remus followed without hesitation.

As soon as the door closed behind him, blocking out the ringing silence of grief, his eyes located Sirius. He was sat at the bottom of his bed, staring at the floor.

“They’re like my parents too-”

“I know.”

Remus moved to sit beside him, and they both stared at nothing, feeling their hearts and souls and very beings heavy. He glanced at Sirius. His dark eyes were smudged with tiredness, something that was becoming more and more predominant with youth, and his face looked sallow and skull-like. Something inside of his stomach twisted.

He patted his lap. Sirius looked at him carefully, and Remus sighed, ensuring to be gentle as he pulled him down to lie across his thighs. He threaded his fingers through Sirius’ hair.

“I thought you didn’t like petting me,” Sirius mumbled, closing his eyes.

Remus nearly scoffed, but he let his fingers continue their ministrations. “You’re a spoilt puppy, you know that?”

“You love me.”

Remus didn’t reply because it was true. He did.

There was nothing but quietness, and the sound of two broken boys’ hearts, breaking into even more pieces.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Sirius said quietly.

The sentence was so childlike and simple that it made Remus’ throat dry, and he didn’t know what to say. He just continued playing with his hair.

“I don’t want to fight.”

This one was said slightly louder, with a wobbling conviction. Remus found this hard to believe, although he didn’t voice it. Sirius loved confrontation. He loved winning. He loved conflict. Sirius and Chaos walked hand in hand.

“I don’t want to go to war!”

Sirius’ voice rose to a loud, desperate and forceful volume. He meant this. Remus could feel it in his bones. But there was something more to it, something he wasn’t saying.

“ _I don’t want to die…”_

And there it was. Sirius’ voice broke, cracking into the whispering truth. Remus almost wished he’d shouted it. Maybe that would make it hurt less.

Because, Remus thought as he wiped away a tear leaking from Sirius’ eye, he didn’t want him to die either. Hell, he would go out of his freaking mind, he would lose the very last shred of his sanity, if anything,  _anything_ , happened to his friends.

To his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always, I still do not own anything here, all credit belongs to the absolutely astounding mind of JK Rowling.
> 
>  
> 
> Hiii guys! So what did you think? I tried to add a bit of a lighter tone to this chapter, as it’s been very dark recently and it’s just going to get darker!
> 
>  
> 
> This is where I really need your opinions and ideas- I love updating. I love writing this story, for you guys, for me, for everyone who loves Harry Potter, for the characters who deserve to be fleshed out and explored. The only problem is, I am fast running out of ideas. A Halloween Ball is coming up soon (I haven’t forgotten) and so is Sirius’ birthday (2nd November). But other than that, I don’t have any inspiration!
> 
> If you want me to continue regularly updating this story, then please please please PM me or leave a review or direct me to some inspiration because I’m stuck!
> 
> I LOVE WOLFSTAR SO MUCH! Like, I just feel like I should scrap the Hermione pairing and write Wolfstar to be honest!
> 
> I’m joking, of course. Although I would if I could.
> 
> Favourite line? Favourite character so far? Favourite chapter out of the whole fanfic?
> 
> Please remember to tell me what you want to see and help me so I can update either tomorrow or Thursday for you!!!
> 
> Everliah


	29. Chapter 29- The Operation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’M BACK! AND BETTER!
> 
> After the last update, I was going to use my day off school to write some more but then I was sick everywhere and I had delirium and I couldn’t even see when the lights were on in a room, never mind stare at a computer screen for hours whilst writing another chapter.
> 
> I just wanted to say- WOW! You guys are all so talented and imaginative! I would say that you should write your own fanfictions with all your awesome ideas… But then I’m scared you’ll ditch mine because yours would all be so much better ahah!
> 
> They’ve really helped! Really, really helped!! And it means that I’ve managed to plan the next FIVE chapters- that is how good you are!
> 
> I’m really proud of this one, and the scenes in this chapter are kind of imperative, so I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Chapter 29- The Operation

 

Hermione stood outside the office, staring at the eagle with a sense of mild trepidation.

She didn't dislike Dumbledore, but she didn’t trust him. In her younger years, she had idolised him with an unveiled astonishment, for he was the person who had started everything. That one simple letter had been signed by him, in the emerald ink on the parchment, delivered by the owl that had tried to eat her dad’s toupee. He was the embodiment of magic, of safety. Dumbledore had been the symbol of hope for so long…

Until he wasn’t. Until he fell from the top of the tower. Until his killer’s memories revealed the truth. 

And despite everything she knew, despite her better judgement, she couldn’t help but feel awed by him. He was everything Hogwarts was meant to be; his inspirational speeches, his twinkling eyes, his reassuring way of always knowing what to do and what to say.

Now, though, Hermione wasn’t sure what he could possibly have to say. And she couldn’t contain the worry eating away at her. He'd called her up to his office- there was no way it was just for tea and biscuits. She hardly believed that the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had called her up for a gossip.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, before she resignedly said the password. The revolving stairs seemed to go on forever, and it was with great difficulty and reservation that she eventually came to stand outside of the doors.

Lifting her hand up to knock, they clicked open of their own accord, swinging wide to reveal Dumbledore sat behind his desk. He looked like he always did, that indescribable familiarity brimming in his blue eyes, and wrinkled face. He motioned for her to sit down. The doors closed behind her.

“Miss Granger,” he greeted, smiling amicably. He gestured to the small ornate bowl of sweets in front of her. “Lemon drop?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, and did as she was told. “Thank you.”

Dumbledore helped himself to one, and he seemed to take his time, leisurely unwrapping the sweet and observing it before he put it in his mouth. She shifted in her chair, wishing he’d get to the point. She was starting to sweat.

“How are you?”

Almost closing her eyes in exasperation (she really couldn’t handle this small talk), Hermione smiled and said carefully, “Very well. And yourself?”

“Good, good,” the Headmaster replied. He interlocked his fingers on the desk. “And school is going well, I hope?”

“Yes,” she said. “Well, at least, when I’m actually  _there_ , it is.”

Dumbledore’s lips quirked. “You do seem to have spent a considerable amount of time in the Hospital Wing. Fear not, Miss Granger, I’m sure your incredible academic ability prevents you from falling behind.”

Hermione blushed, looking away. “Thank you.”

There was silence, in which Hermione took the chance to survey the office. She couldn't remember actually coming in here that much in her time- she'd never had reason to, but she was surprised to find it very eccentric.

Honestly, she didn't know why. It was  _Dumbledore_ , after all.

The shelves were stacked and filled with a mismatched assortment of various objects with buttons and knobs and retractable arms. There were glass vials filled with all sorts of strange colours and picture frames wedged between old books and remembralls.

A tall wooden and empty perch stood near the bottom of some stairs to a higher level, where the walls were encompassed with books, and there was a small pile of ash underneath it. She frowned. The black heap marred the floor, and yet Dumbledore hadn't cleaned it up yet.

Then it started to move.

A small head poked out of the ashes, beak opening and closing as it tried to chirp. Its eyes were shut tight, and the tiny wings fluttered without purpose. There was something delicate and touching about the display, and even though the bird was blind and flightless and more than likely unable to even walk, Hermione couldn't help but think that she was seeing one of the most powerful creatures she would ever see.

"Fawkes," Dumbledore said quietly.

"A Phoenix," she breathed. Her eyes were wide and locked on the chick. "Born from the ashes of its previous life."

There was something poetic about it, she thought; dying to live and living to die, over and over again, never knowing if the cycle would ever truly end.

Something sad about it too.

She resumed in her perusal of the room and found that everything seemed to belong anywhere but the place it resided. The previous Headmasters snoozed in their portraits, completely disinterested in the real world. Hermione couldn't blame them.

"Speaking of that," Dumbledore continued and she dragged her eyes to him. "Have you discovered the identity of your boggart yet, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but everything died on her lips. Draco, Voldemort, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter-

The Future never left her tongue.

"No."

Dumbledore watched her. He raised his chin in a slight nod of understanding, and his eyes never left her face (which she was sure must be straining to be normal at this point).

He was a brilliant wizard, perhaps the most brilliant on the planet, in the history of magic even! But there were some things that you just couldn't tell adults without the risk of them fucking it up… and saving the world was one of them.

"I see. And have you considered what I told you?"

Hermione frowned. "About what, sir?"

"About time, Miss Granger..." He trailed off, staring at her. He looked to be deep in thought and when he spoke next, his voice was precariously balanced. As though the weight of the world did not rest on this conversation, on these two people in this very room.

"Fawkes is a Phoenix, Miss Granger. He is meant to die. He is meant to be engulfed in the torturous mouth of fire and anguish before he can be salvaged. In his transition, he experiences unimaginable pain, more profound than any he has ever felt before... All to be reborn. And this happens... Because it is meant to happen. The universe transpires to ensure that Fawkes goes up in flames and is reborn in ashes. Because it is meant to be.

"If you could, would you stop the transition? Would you prevent him from feeling pain? Would you save him of his torture?"

Hermione, unsure of where this was going, nodded. The thought of the poor animal going through hell for no justifiable reason made her sick. What was the point in dying if all you gained from it was a life you didn’t ask for?

Dumbledore went on, "But stopping the transition means that the bird will never again rise from the ashes. Fawkes will go up in flames, and he will remain a pile of nothing. He will die. Forever. And there will be no more birdsong, no more extraordinary acts of healing, no more company for a lonely old man.

"Would you really want to be responsible for all of that beauty being ripped from the world? Simply because you saw what happened ahead of it happening?"

Hermione stayed silent. She had no idea why he was telling her this. Why did the death and birth of a bird matter?

Of course, she would want to stop the pain. She was a House Elf Activist for crying out loud! But could she really decide whether the Phoenix got to live or die? Could she really dictate that? Could she really play God?

Her mind spun.

“Professor,” Hermione said and her eyebrows were carefully knitted together as she looked at him. She licked her lips, considering her words. “What are you trying to say?”

Dumbledore regarded her with an indecipherable caution in his blue eyes. “Remember what I told you, Miss Granger. Time is fragile. It is set in its ways. Until now, there has never been the choice to rewrite the path to the future. It has always been momentary. There has never been insight to the events that lie before us. We have never had reason to truly fear whether the choices we make are right or wrong. We have merely ventured on, prevailing on this journey, following the thread of our lives that is already laid out for us...

"Time is an intricate balance. It is a thread, a loop of string; if you so much as touch it, you cannot possibly predict the tangles that will inevitable occur. And nobody likes a thread with tangles, Hermione. Nobody prefers complications to the straightforward."

Her face tightened on its own accord, and she tilted her head slightly. “Are you telling me that I have to sit here, when I could do so much more, and let everything roll out as planned? Let everyone 'follow their threads?' Let my friends, the people I love, die…?”

Her eyes grew wet and outrage sparked in her stomach at the mere thought of it.

The Headmaster bowed his head, glancing away. The truth of it felt like a blow to her gut. Hermione swallowed and managed to utter, “Sir, what you’re asking is impossible-”

“Not impossible, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore countered firmly, and his voice was the hardest she had ever heard it. “Merely unsavoury.”

She stared at him, silence fuelling her fury. Eventually, she said, "Time is a human concept; it doesn't exist without us." Licking her lips, the desperation tainted her words and they came out as an only half-confident plea. "If we can create it, we can control it."

Dumbledore merely stared back at her. And his voice was low and unmoving when he said:

"We can also destroy it, Miss Granger."

Hermione stood up abruptly, and the chair flew backwards, skidding onto the floor. Fawkes squawked in surprise.

She wasn't crying but her eyes felt hot and she wiped at her face anyway. Without looking at him, Hermione mumbled, "Well, it was nice speaking to you, professor," before she stormed out of the room.

She wasn’t fully aware of what she was doing, or even where she was going to go, only that she couldn’t bear to stay in the same place as Dumbledore for any longer. Hermione flew down the stairs, face tight, lips pursed, trying desperately to bottle down her anger. How could he say that? How could he presume that of her? How could he ask her to condemn innocent people to a future destined to burn?

_You’re just going to let it burn._

No, Hermione thought. The voice in her head was adamant, like a silent promise that she had reiterated to herself countless times… Never had she meant it like this, though.

Her hand loosely trailed down the banister, and she swung around the end of it once the eagle spun open, propelling herself into the corridor and straight into Remus.

Withdrawing, she regarded him with wide eyes, and his hands steadied her, gripping the tops of her arms. Hermione hadn’t been this close to him in a while.

“Hi,” he smiled down at her, all wonky.

“Hello,” she smiled in reply, all breathless.

“Hi,” Peter said, poking his head over Remus’ shoulder. He was grinning lopsidedly. She frowned. Remus coughed and let her go.

“Are you all here?” Peering around them both (they were too tall for her to look over), she saw Sirius and James further along the corridor, playing with their wands, sending sparks of reds and blues dissipating into the air. “Why are you all here?”

Peter raised his eyebrows at her and said, “Well, you didn’t come back from Charms, so we decided to ask where you went, you know, just in case, and Mary said Dumbledore had called you up so we came here to wait for you.”

Hermione melted at his earnest voice and droopy eyes, and her fury left her. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He froze, visibly alarmed, before he slowly let an arm drape around her back.

They moved over to stand next to the other two boys, who were talking about something.

“-got these  _huge_ ti- Hermione!”

Sirius lit up when he saw her, breaking off sheepishly and his magical duck that had been quacking through the air before him scattered into nothing.

She raised an eyebrows. “Huge what now?”

“How was your chat with Dumbles?” James asked, hastily steering the conversation away from her question. She faltered.

The truth threatened to spill out of her, but one look from James had it crawling back down her throat and instead, she said, “Fine. He just wanted to see how I was settling in.”

Peter was staring at her, and she wondered if he could feel the erratic beat of her heart. Hermione swallowed, tilting her head and repeated, “Huge what now?”

Remus coughed, and Sirius’ cheeks slowly turned red. “Nothing, darling, that you should worry your little head over.”

His smile was sickly sweet and she noticed.

Although he wasn’t much taller than her (only a few inches), Peter still had to duck his head to whisper, “That’s just Sirius for you.”

Remus raised an eyebrow and said dryly, “Which translates to an archetypal male who frequently comments on the voluptuous nature of women’s breasts.”

“That’s disgusting,” Hermione chastised. Sirius looked scandalised, but he recovered quickly.

“Oh please, Granger,” Sirius replied, cocky in an instant. He gestured to himself. “Look at this! No one could ever resist this!”

Nose wrinkling, she said distastefully, “Don’t be so sure of that.”

“What are you talking about, Mione?” A girl’s voice called down the corridor, and all five of them spun around. Hermione still had her arms around Peter and as he twisted round, she was dragged along with him. A huff of air escaped her lips and he muttered a sheepish apology.

They spotted Marlene and Lily coming towards them. Marlene was the one talking, and she had a sly grin stretching her bright lips. “Clearly you’ve never seen him try to eat the legendary ten tiered chocolate ganache Halloween cake the House Elves make each year. How any girl can resist that is beyond me!”

Whilst the others laughed, Sirius nodded sulkily and said, “Yes, laugh it up. You’re all jealous. You just can’t handle my attractiveness. I could pull any girl in this school. Watch me.”

Remus scoffed and his eyes were bright as he said, “Please, most of them aren’t even your type.”

Sirius made a very rude hand gesture in reply. Remus raised an eyebrow, as if this proved everything.

No one else interfered for a second, and the two boys stared at each other.

“Well,” Marlene announced, hooking her arm through Lily’s, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet during this entire exchange. “Best get going.  _Someone_  has places to be and people to see.”

“Meeting up with Diggory to have a rematch of tonsil tennis?” Sirius asked scathingly.

She smiled sharply at him. “You’re positively green, Sirius. Just because I’m actually getting some action. When was the last time you got some? In fact, don’t answer that. It will probably just make me sad for you and I’m not feeling overly hospitable today.”

He didn’t look at Hermione. She didn’t look at him.

“I would give you a pity snog, but apparently, I’m not your type,” she said. “And for your information,” Marlene continued, pulling Lily roughly to her side. “I was talking about Lily! She’s got a date!”

The effect was immediate. Sirius’ jaw dropped. Remus cringed. Hermione felt her heart go cold. Peter let out a small “Oh.” James stared at Lily. Lily stared at the floor.

“With who?” Sirius asked, outraged.

“With Bernie Perkins.”

“Bernie!?” Sirius repeated deliriously, and he actually looked faint. “Bernie- Bernie bloody Perkins?! The Hufflepuff-? The  _Hufflepuff_?!”

Marlene pursed her lips. “He’s actually very nice.”

“He is,” Lily offered weakly, but this seemed to be only to reassure Marlene, so nobody really took notice of her.

“He’s a bloody Puff!”

“Interhouse bonding,” she retorted coolly. “Not everyone is a die-hard, head-up-their-own-arse Gryffindor!”

Sirius’ mouth dropped even lower than last time, until it looked to be swallowed by his neck. He mouthed barbarity, but only managed to splutter, “Get out of my sight! I can’t even look at you right now!”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Gladly.”

She readjusted her grasp on Lily, who was still frightfully subdued. Hermione made note of the fact that she hadn’t looked at James once during the encounter. She prayed to God that this meant what she thought it did.

“Traitor,” Peter muttered for good measure just before the two girls left. Marlene shot him a glare that had him recoiling back with Hermione. 

“God, she’s such a bitch,” Sirius said as soon as they were out of sight. But although the words were mean and said in one breath of air, as though he had been restraining himself from saying it, they all knew he didn’t mean it. Well, he did, because it was true- Marlene  _was_  a bitch, but she was their bitch, so it was okay.

Peter turned to James, who was staring at his feet. “You okay Prongs?”

James looked up, and his eyes were wide, as though he wasn’t all there. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Erm, I’m just gonna go finish off some homework. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

He didn’t even wait for a reply, merely took off down the other end of the corridor, hands shoved deep in his pockets, drooped shoulders and dejected stature making him look like he was feeling very sorry for himself, indeed.

**oOoOoOo**

 “I have an idea!” Sirius announced suddenly, and his eyes lit up with something bright and dangerous. The remaining four of them were in the boys’ dormitory, where they had retired to, and had been left pondering the situation at hand.

“No,” Remus immediately replied, eyebrows raised. He was leaning against the large chest of drawers on one side of the room and his voice was firm. He shook his head for emphasis, barely budging when Sirius deflated. He pouted.

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“With all due respect, Padfoot, the last time we listened to one of your ideas, it ended in homicide,” Remus said. A snort erupted from the blanket mountain that was Peter. Hermione’s eyes widened.

Sirius made an incensed noise, assuming an affronted expression. “Only theoretically! And this one might’ve ended differently!”

Straight to the point, Remus asked, “Did it?” 

Opening his mouth, no words came out and Sirius’ face contorted. He tilted his head to the side, scrunching up his nose. Eventually, he said, “No…”

But the slow way he said it and his refusal to meet anyone’s gaze, had Hermione thinking otherwise.

“Homicide?” She repeated, raising her eyebrows at him. “I- just-  _homicide_?”

Remus glanced at her and said, “He has issues. We call it his People Problems. You know, when he can’t stand being within a metre of people, when he wants to kill everyone in his sight… You get the idea.”

Sirius shot him a look, and expressed indignantly, “You are painting me out to be very deranged. I swear, I’m not as unstable as what it seems. I only felt that urge once… And I didn’t act on it!”

He said this last bit as though he had achieved something spectacular, as if not everyone could supress the urge to kill, as if anyone else had those urges anyway.

Peter was staring at him with a cautious look of bewilderment printed on his face.

“How do you even have friends?” He questioned slowly, like the fact genuinely puzzled him. Hermione snorted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius said. “I’m a very friendly person.”

Hermione added, “Who sometimes has urges to kill people for no particular reason.”

“Hey! I said I didn’t act on it!”

“People Problems,” Remus said knowingly, flourishing his hands and he exchanged a look with Peter, whose grin shone from inside the duvet cocoon he had made for himself.

“Do you want to hear my plan or not?”

Hermione stared, letting her unsure eyes rest on each of them. Their plan before had been brilliant. It had pushed her, it had sparked something deep within her, it had made her feel alive and free and young.

But this was different; this was messing with two people’s lives! Albeit, these people were meant to be together, but that really wasn’t the point here! The point was they couldn’t interfere!

Could they?

She sucked in her lips, folding her arms across her chest. Nobody would get hurt- least of all James and Lily, as the Marauders wouldn’t even risk that being a liability! And sure, Sirius could be a little… dramatic, sometimes, but Remus was always there to balance him out and Peter sided with whoever had the most food (which was often the werewolf, who appeared to keep a hidden stash of sweets under his bed).

What could go wrong?

Hermione sighed, tipping her head back. She looked at them all again, just in case she changed her mind, but the decision was cemented in her brain.

“ _Fine._..” She said carefully. Looking pointedly at Sirius, she added, “But no homicide!”

His grin was huge and infectious and he rested his hand over his heart and said, in a mock-solemn voice, “You have my word.”

Peter’s rambunctious laugh echoed around the dormitory. Sirius jumped on the nearest bed to him, legs crossed, arms gesturing wildly. His eyes were bright.

“Love potion," he proposed. Straight to the point. Pete sobered up. "We spike their drinks. They dance all night, they kiss, maybe James even gets some- OW! No, okay. No, James won’t get some, ignore that. But the gist is, they fall madly in love forever and ever and everyone lives in happy harmony. The End.”

He rubbed at his head, where Hermione had rightfully lobbed something (she wasn’t even sure what) at him. Her disapproval was tangible in the air.

“No.”

“No?” Sirius repeated dubiously.

“No,” she affirmed.

“No,” he wailed.

Hermione’s arms were rigid on her hips as she said imperturbably, "Just because you're a natural beauty with the face of a God, does not mean you can go around, willy-nilly, and decide who is going to love who!"

Sirius' face turned smug and sly and he perked up, saying, "You think I have the face of a God?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Hermione went bright red, and she flashed her eyes.

"That was so not the point!"

"Please, continue. Don't let my God-like looks distract you from your course," Sirius said, spreading his arms.

Peter watched her pleasantly and said, "I'm listening, Mione."

Remus sighed.

"You can't- can't force love!" She spluttered indignantly, throwing her arms up in the air. "Love is- it's a natural beauty! You can't just completely remove free will from this! People are supposed to fall in love on their own! Unaided! Without help! Without you! Unaided!"

"Are you broken?" Remus asked politely

She scowled at him. She didn't know why it really bothered her... It was just- James and Lily were supposed to love each other, and not artificially either. It was supposed to be something real, and powerful, more so than magic!

Real and powerful enough so that when a young woman sacrifices herself for her baby, the love is protection enough.

Not that she was going to let that happen.

Sirius pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and said, "Sweetheart, that was beautiful. Really it was, but we're not forcing anything-"

She scoffed.

"-the potion only enhances what's there."

Hermione paused. She could only utter, "What?"

He grinned and said, "If there is nothing already there, then nothing will ever be there. You can't force love, after all."

Peter bounced up onto his knees on his bed and added eagerly, "Yeah, and it only lasts an hour. It's like a- a kickstart! Like one of those guns that you start horse races with! The horse is gonna run anyway- the gun just sets it off sooner!"

Remus blinked, looking at his friend in a seemingly new light. "You know, that's a surprisingly adept comparison."

Pete blushed, smiling profusely,

Hermione was still unsure.

"Look, Mione," Sirius said, moving closer to her so he could put his hands on her shoulders. "Do you want our best friend, our brother, to die alone?"

"Tad dramatic," she interrupted. He ignored her.

"Do you want him to live until the sorry old age of 102, wondering desperately what would've happened if his four best friends had spiked his potion at the Halloween Ball of '77?"

Hermione exhaled loudly, shaking her head as she said, "Well now you're really exaggerating."

"But you see our point?" Sirius asked.

She sighed, "I guess..."

In slow motion, Peter fist-bumped the air triumphantly, falling backwards onto his bed shouting,  _“Operation Deerly Beloved!”_  A cheesy grin was present on his face.

Sirius and Remus exchanged an amused glance, before they both burst out laughing.

Hermione felt a flicker of fear at the madness bound to unravel, but it was drowned out by the coursing euphoria washing through her. Halloween was going to be a very interesting night indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, this has got to be one of my personal favourites so far! The scene with Dumbledore was very very significant! Not only the explanations, but also some potential foreshadowing going on there. I say potential because I have various different ideas as to where this is going to end up and one of them may involve something in this chapter. I haven't decided yet. I'll give you a hint, just in case I do continue with the idea: a character that is actually very important in the second book, that is going to make a few more appearances later on in this fic...
> 
> The only problem is you people want a happy ending, so I still have yet to decide whether to make you complete, or sad... I quite enjoy making people sad... (emotionally, of course... through writing... I don't go around poking people in the eye just to make them cry. I'm not Crowley).
> 
> I loved writing the light-heartedness of this chapter as well! I have so many favourite lines from this update! A few, but not limited as there are loads I loved writing are:
> 
>  
> 
> '"People are supposed to fall in love on their own! Unaided! Without help! Without you! Unaided!"  
> "Are you broken?" Remus asked politely.'
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> 'Remus scoffed and his eyes were bright as he said, “Please, most of them aren’t even your type.”  
> Sirius made a very rude hand gesture in reply. Remus raised an eyebrow, as if this proved everything.  
> No one else interfered for a second, and the two boys stared at each other.'
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> '“I would give you a pity snog, but apparently, I’m not your type,” she said.'
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> 'Time is fragile. It is set in its ways. Until now, there has never been the choice to rewrite the path to the future. It has always been momentary. There has never been insight to the events that lie before us. We have never had reason to truly fear whether the choices we make are right or wrong. We have merely ventured on, prevailing on this journey, following the thread of our lives that is already laid out for us...'
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Sooo yeah, those were a few of my favourites. I love writing Marlene and Dumbledore! They're so different! It's so much fun! What were your favourite quotes?


	30. Chapter 30- The Section

Chapter 30- The Section

They sat in the Great Hall the next morning. The hush was delicately sheathed in forced nonchalance, but there was something brewing in the aisles, something that had every student and teacher alike careful with what they said and did.

Sirius seemed to make up for the silence, however, and he was loud and overly enthusiastic as he said, “What is the point in dressing up though? I mean, you’re going to know who everyone is, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Peter replied. He was sat on Hermione’s other side and peered around her to look at Sirius. The topic of the Halloween Ball had sparked from the looming date, just four days away. She found it daunting, how she had been in the past for so long now; time had slipped by, without as much as a tickle. “Some people have pretty convincing disguises.”

“Pretty convincing disguises?” Sirius asked in disbelief. “Pete, you’ve only been going to school with them for a bloody seven years!”

Hermione let herself smile. Across the table, James said, “The girls like it, apparently.” He looked at her. “Say, Hermione. You’re a girl. Do you enjoy the mysterious romance of dressing up and pretending to be someone you’re not for one night only?”

She pulled a face and asked in an offended voice, “Are you asking me if I like roleplay?”

Sirius burst out laughing. Peter choked on his milk. James’ expression dropped into one of muted horror, and his wide eyes bored into her with an apologetic desperation. “That was not what I meant- I swear- Oh my- Hermione, I- Dear Merlin!”

He continued to mutter to himself, flopping his head into his hands in shame. Hermione tried to contain her amusement and she shook her head, helping herself to another slice of toast. Her eyes flitted to James’ left, where Remus was sat quietly, stirring his chocolate porridge with his good hand and staring into it. Her face dropped. Neither he nor James had eaten anything.

There was a squawk, and from the top window of the hall, a flurry of birds flooded in from the cold weather outside. Everything went silent. It felt as though everyone was waiting, with bated breath, to see where the owls would land. They were all praying it wasn’t going to be anywhere near them. Hermione didn't have to pray. She had nothing in this time to lose.

A large brown owl fell rather inelegantly a few spaces down the table from them, and a third year girl reached out to collect the hefty newspaper it had dropped. Her hands were shaking. She swallowed, turning it over to see the front page, and what little colour had been in her cheeks, drained from her face. “Oh.”

She put it back down on the table.

The same reaction was being found wherever the Daily Prophet had been despatched to also. Faces were turning white, eyes were dropping, stomachs were going cold.

James went deathly quiet and Sirius shot him a look, questioning and bewildered. Remus reached down the table, snatching the discarded paper and the third year didn’t seem to care, or even notice at all.

He flipped it around, and his eyes scanned the front page. He didn’t really seem to react. Hermione found this strange. Where everyone else had trembled, or looked as though they were going to vomit, Remus shut down completely; it was like he wasn’t even there. She wondered whether he did this out of habit, whether it was good he could lock himself away from it all. It couldn't be healthy.

He dropped the newspaper down in front of him, and smoothed it out so all five of them could see. They swooped in, twisting their heads to greedily devour the impending update of devastation, and they were not disappointed.

“They’ve got a section dedicated to listing the dead now?” Peter asked, and his voice was delicately precarious and quiet, as though it would shatter at any higher volume.

Hermione licked her lips. She felt tense and rigid all over.

Sirius, sat next to her, didn’t even move, and his fingers fluttered against hers. She wanted to hold his hand and squeeze it, and let his thumb caress her knuckles, but she didn’t move either.

She couldn't.

Dumbledore stood then, moving to stand behind the golden eagle. Hermione felt even worse at the sight of him, but she watched him regardless, hoping with a sort of hypocritical desperation that he would say something hopeful. That he would say something that would ignite that little bit of faith they all needed.

"Good morning," he began. His voice was deep and solemn and it reverberated around the entire hall. There was not a whisper to oppose it. "Although I suppose it is not exactly a good morning at all. As most of you have no doubt seen, the Prophet has an additional section this week, and indeed, the many weeks to come... The time we face now is a perilous path...and we have no foresight to predict the outcome of these events."

Hermione shifted in her seat. James looked at her, and she adamantly kept her eyes on Dumbledore.

"But I will tell you this: as dark as the days may seem, and as lonely as the nights may feel, you, the students of this school, are not alone. And you are safe here. Among all else, I wish you to know that you are safe. Regardless of the threat posed by the wizard whose name you have heard, painted across the headlines, and splattered across these horrible, terrible events, I must tell you all that Hogwarts is always here and will always be safe. Let this school be your haven. Let it protect and cherish you, as well as teach you. Let these walls weep with you and bleed for you and prevent any danger or harm from ever reaching you. Let it, let us, keep you safe.

"And now, I have been asked by the Minister to read through these names, out of honour to the dead."

Hermione closed her eyes.

"Romilda Toskus..."

The names were listed in a random order, and they thudded against the side of her brain, like tiny bombs going off.

"William Pooles...

Kurtis Jonty...

Tamarac Edgecombe..."

Peter started crying, silently, but Hermione couldn’t bear it. His pain was leaking out of him, and she hated the way he had to hold it all together. She held his hand under the table, as tight as she could, hoping she could somehow remind him that this was temporary. It was all temporary.

"Fitzgerald Wynkle...

Pontefract Barms...

Susan Darnet..."

Her eyes were tightly shut. She could hear Sirius' deep breathing from beside her, slow and forcefully even. Although it sounded hard and agonised, she focused on the feel of it.

The names blurred into white noise. She couldn't speak, she couldn't listen, she couldn't bear to hear more people getting hurt again... More people dying-

Dumbledore stopped talking.

Hermione opened her eyes. Remus was staring fixedly at a point on the table and his face was still blank; not a shred of emotion flickered upon it. She wanted to shake him.

James was focused on Dumbledore, and his lips were a straight line.

"As a result of this, the Ministry has also decreed that duelling will be taught in every Defence Against the Dark Arts class for as long as they deem necessary. Aurors have been hired to come into the school and oversee these lessons to ensure you are well-prepared for every worst case scenario. On that note, enjoy the rest of your day and learn everything you can."

"Well, that was cheery," Sirius announced as soon as the buzz, which was slightly hesitant, resumed.

"Don't," Remus said in a low voice.

Sirius' face tightened. "I'm trying to lighten the mood here. I'm trying to prevent us from all going batshit depressed, okay? A little cooperation would be nice."

"Oh fuck that," Remus fumed and his eyes flashed. Hermione noticed the gold streaks in his normally calm pools of brown, that seemed to pulse with fury. "Just act your age for once and mourn like any other normal human being would."

Sirius' jaw twitched and he opened his mouth to retaliate when Peter interrupted brokenly, "Guys, stop. Please stop."

He was still squeezing Hermione's hand, and they all looked at him to see his eyes wet and red. His voice was thick and straining to be strong.

Sirius looked down. Remus swallowed.

"How about we get to class? We've got Defence first," James said, "and if we've really got an Auror, we're gonna want to be on time."

Hermione climbed to her feet, pulling Peter gently up with her. He was clinging to her hand, as if he daren't let go, and it felt nice to be the rock for once, as opposed to the one falling apart.

They left the numbness of the Great Hall; James in front, Remus behind him, Hermione almost coaxing Peter into moving and Sirius trailing at the back. Defence was already full when they got there, as it seemed the rest of the class had had the same idea.

The Auror arrived shortly after, a tall man with wide shoulders and a narrow head of no hair. His face was set back into his skull and a gristly beard made him look ragged and windswept. A thin white scar stretched down one side of his face. He was clutching an overcoat to his chest, and as the door swung open to reveal his presence, he paused.

"Well, I wasn't expecting any of you to be here just yet. Your excitement is refreshing, to say the least."

Hermione didn't think that was the reason for their earliness.

There was a husky but gentle undertone to his voice and he seemed to utter every word with a kind of delicacy, which greatly contrasted his overwhelming appearance. He moved with a hunch, head down, and yet he was still incredibly domineering. His height didn’t let him be invisible, despite his best attempts to be so.

He stood at the front of the class and his eyes, which were strangely bright in comparison to the darkness of his skin, surveyed them as he said, “My name is Pike Datner. I am one of the three Aurors dispatched to your school. My colleague should be here soon enough to aid me. We are here with the job of preparing you for first-hand combat should you ever be in a position where you need it. You’ve probably already caught wind of the reason why.” His voice was very heavy, but brisk and straightforward, like he was affected by the tragedy, but too busy to really ponder it. Or maybe that was just how he always sounded.

"The terror sweeping the nation is one that we have to monitor and plan for with a terse and diligent effort. There is no way of knowing how or when or even if, an attack is impending. Therefore, we must be on our toes are all time. We must have-"

" _ **Constant vigilance!**_ "

The door exploded inwards, bouncing off the stone wall with an unhealthy scream of wood. A Slytherin girl at the front shrieked. The man in the doorway was shorter in comparison to Pike, but wider and stockier. He wore a long brown coat that fell to his knees and was marred with all sorts of stains and dirt. His head, which resembled a square-like shape, spouted wispy blonde hair and blatant disgust curled his lip.

Datner raised his eyebrows and said, "Nice of you to show your face, Alastor."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

A much younger and, it had to be said, a much more whole, Alastor Moody begin to make his way to the front. There was no clunk of wood from his leg, and he had two intact feet of his own. His dark eyes (both of them, at this point) flicked anxiously around the class.

When he got to Datner, the black man slapped his friend on the back and grinned at the nervous disposition of the students. He looked towards Mad-Eye (who had to yet to obtain his 'mad eye', it seemed) and suggested, "You're better at making speeches than me. Why don't you take over?"

Moody grunted in way of reply. Datner must've taken this to mean 'yes' however for he stepped back and perched on the front of the desk, hands clasped idly in front of him to listen to the continuation of his speech.

James spun around in his seat. His eyes were shining and he exclaimed in a whisper, "That's Moody! Alastor Moody! He's only the greatest Auror on the planet!"

Remus thwacked his head and he turned back around, rightly chastised.

"Well," Moody began. His voice was a growl. "It brings me no pleasure to have to be doing this today. If it were up to me, you'd all be duelling experts by now anyway, having started as soon as you could hold a wand but the ministry seems to lack on every level-"

"Alastor," Datner warned.

Moody broke off. He didn't appear pleased. He completely ignored his colleague and continued, "Has anyone ever duelled before?"

A few people timidly raised their hands. His eyes shot to them, weighing them up.

"Not against family or friends?"

They all went down except one. Moody let his gaze fall onto Hermione, whose hand never faltered even though she wanted to tremble under his scrutiny. "You've duelled?"

"Yes, sir."

"Under what circumstances?"

"It's a long story," Hermione replied and her throat felt dry. She tried to stay collected.

Moody stared at her, then back at Datner, who was watching her with slight interest.

"Miss?"

"Granger, sir."

"Miss Granger," Moody started. "Tell me, how was it that a girl found herself to be in a war, fighting? Against men, I presume?"

Next to her, Remus winced. Even Datner shook his head.

"You presume correct," Hermione gritted out. She stared at him, resolutely. There was no way she was looking away.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm afraid though, sir, that I don't care much for your insinuations. I'll have you know that just because I'm female does not subtract from my fighting ability. In fact, I guarantee I could take on anyone you put in front of me," Hermione fumed.

A few Slytherins sniggered. Remus looked sideways at her and there was a tinge of amusement playing at his mouth.

Moody's lips seemed to quirk, but they returned to that set line before she could blink. He said gruffly, "Well, we'll see."

Yes, she thought. Bitter infused her and she felt that burning resolve to dominate. We will.

Returning his attention to the whole class, he said, "Since I highly doubt your duelling capability, we'll start off with a 'winner-stays-on'. You can see what to do and what... Not to do. Whittling down the weak to see the strongest fighter of you all, who seems to have already admitted herself..." His eyes danced. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Moody clapped his hands together and asked eagerly, "Now, who wants to go first?"

 

There was silence.

"Surely it should be ladies first?" Malfoy commented and there was a spark in his cool eyes, which slanted over Hermione. A few of his lackeys snickered.

"Up you go then, Malfoy," she retorted. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and Remus laughed loudly beside her.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Moody barked his amusement from the front, exchanging a look with Datner. The other man shrugged.

"Come on then, Mr Malfoy," Moody growled, jabbing his head to the side. He waved his wand and the desks disappeared, slipping into nonexistence. Those who had been resting against the wood slipped forward as they were instead supported by thin air. James was one of these and his chin went smashing into his knees. Peter's hand shot up to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Their chairs went next, dissipating into nothing, and every single student fell backwards, hitting the floor hard.

Malfoy clambered up, red-faced, and made his way to where Moody was standing. The grisly Auror had conjured a long runway of sorts to act as a stage. He turned back to face the class and his expression was greedy and roving as he muttered, “But who’s your opponent…? Ah,” his eyes landed on a target. “You.”

Peter trembled violently under Moody’s demanding gaze. He had gone pale, very pale, and his eyes were wide. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and he didn’t seem to be breathing. Sirius noticed.

“I’ll do it,” Sirius announced, quickly standing up. He was flamboyant with his gestures and an easy grin adorned his face. The attention shifted to him immediately. “Always wanted to fight the blonde prick. Might as well seize the chance to do it without getting a detention.”

Peter sighed in relief, and he relaxed slightly. Hermione swallowed at this. She didn’t know whether to be feeling relieved for Pete too (for Malfoy would’ve had a field trip tormenting the poor boy) or trepidation as Sirius approached the stage. He moved with an elegant cat-like gait, and everything he did seemed flourishing and eloquent.

He jumped onto the dais.

“Few rules,” Datner spoke up and his voice was hushed against the excited hum that had sparked. “You are not allowed to maim or attack with intent of maiming your opponent. Only defensive and Class 1 offensive spells. These are the harmless ones that will throw off your opponent, momentarily baffle them or render them unable to retaliate. The winner shall be declared when myself and Alastor decide one of you has proven themselves to be the superior dueller. Understood?”

There was a murmur of consensus.

“Good,” Datner smiled. “Starting positions. When you see the green sparks, you may begin.”

Both Malfoy and Sirius assumed their poses, with their legs apart and their wand arm arched over their heads. They both had a fierce determination printed across their faces, and the promise of chaos rang in their eyes.

“You’re going down, Malfoy,” Sirius spat.

“Oh, don’t count on that Black,” he drawled in reply.

The green sparks sputtered from the end of the Auror’s wand.

Sirius grinned, “I’m not.”

Before Malfoy had even the chance to utter the first incantation, Sirius shouted, “ _Levicorpus_!”

An invisible force grabbed onto the blonde boy’s ankle, dragging him upside down and into the air. Malfoy dangled, waving his arms about wildly. His face was slowly turning pink, complimenting his white hair quite nicely.

"See, technically, you've gone _up_."

“ _Finite_ ,” he uttered and he had just enough time between falling and making impact with the ground to spin himself sideways, avoiding hitting the platform with the crown of his head. He scrambled to his feet. “You’re a bastard, Black.”

Sirius spread his arms wide. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Malfoy snarled and he whipped forward, waving his wand and crying, “ _Titillando_!”

Freezing for a second, Sirius awaited the magic, having felt the spell wash over him. But nothing happened. Then, there was a slight gentle pressure at all of his sweet spots. He tilted his head at Malfoy, biting his lip and said, “Tickling Charm? That’s cute, Lu-Lu, even for you.”

There were a few chuckles around the class. Malfoy’s jaw clenched and he muttered, “ _Maximus_.”

The effect was instantaneous. Sirius’ expression dropped and he doubled over, eyes clenching shut, face screwing up. His hair flopped into his eyes as he clutched at his stomach, then limbs, than neck, then back. Everything was tickling, in that excruciating perpetual sensation. He desperately tried to hold back his laughter and his lip started to bleed. It felt like he was on fire.

Sirius’ mouth opened, with the intention of delivering a spell, but all that escaped was an agonised laugh. He tried again, but it was futile. He sealed his lips, sucking them into his mouth but his body still racked with silent mirth. Eventually, he composed himself and tried again, wincing at the ongoing torment, but he managed to get out a, “ _Cadere_.”

Though his wand was hung low, Sirius still somehow achieved in aiming the spell in Malfoy’s general direction. The Slytherin had slackened off, clearly feeling complacent at his supposed win. The spell took him completely by surprise and he tripped over thin air, landing on his perfect aristocratic face.

Sirius took this chance to cancel his own jinx by whispering, “ _Finite_.”

He had regained his self-control by the time a raging Malfoy had gotten to his feet.

“Why, you little-”

“Enough!” Moody roared, slashing his wand down and their spells were cancelled immediately. “Bit sloppy and unarguably fuelled on years of bad blood, which makes you rash. Black, I’d say you won that. Pick out your next opponent.”

Malfoy’s eyes shot out his head and he angrily rebutted, “I won that fair and square! And you know it!”

“If that was the case, Mr Malfoy,” Moody replied, and his voice was slick and sickly sweet. “Then you wouldn’t be on your way to sit back down.”

Malfoy’s entire face tensed with unconcealed rage and a vein pulsed in his forehead. Hermione felt a small smirk play at her lips as she watched him sulk to his cronies on the far side of the room. He must’ve felt her gaze on him for he lifted his eyes to her. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged daintily. He turned away.

Sirius, seeming overly pleased with himself, scanned the class. He lifted his hands above his head and cried, “Marls! Would you be a dear?”

“I’m fairly sure that’s James’ job,” Remus muttered next to her. Hermione couldn’t contain her laugh, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. He shot her a surprised look, clearly not expecting anyone to have heard him, and least of all anyone to find him funny.

Marlene grinned up at Sirius, thrusting out her hand and he pulled her up onto the platform.

“I’m flattered, Siri.”

He winked at her. She didn’t waste any time and as soon as she was in position, and the first green spark had left Datner’s wand, she shouted, “ _Stupefy_!”

Sirius swiped his wand up and murmured, “ _Protego_.”

The red spell bounced off of the invisible shield and barrelled into Marlene with an undeniable force. She went flying backwards, landing on her back a few metres from the very end of her side of the runway.

Gingerly, she climbed to her feet. “You know, I heard somewhere boys pick on the girls they fancy,” Marlene said and her eyes danced. She spat on the floor. “Thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Oh, darling, believe me- you’re not.” And without a second’s hesitation, he said delicately, “ _Langlock_.”

Marlene braced herself. Then, when nothing appeared to happen, she smirked and opened her mouth to retaliate, and paused. Her tongue had been temporarily glued to the roof of her mouth, which she opened and closed, willing something to come out.

In the end, she settled for replying with a particularly rude hand gesture. Sirius beamed.

“Off you go, sweetheart,” Moody grumbled. He looked to be enjoying himself, but Hermione couldn’t really be sure. Reading the Auror was like reading a stone wall; futile and often disillusioning. “Next, Black.”

“You can call me Sirius, sir,” Sirius offered, with forced nonchalance.

Moody cracked an inconspicuous smile and it changed his entire face. “I don’t think we’re at that stage in our relationship yet, laddy.”

Datner threw his head back in silent laughter for his colleague’s sense of humour. Sirius grinned.

“Lily! Flower! James’ sweetest! Won’t you be the next to lose to me?”

The redhead rolled her eyes but moved to the front regardless. She ignored his hand to help hoist her up, and climbed up herself (it was quite a high stage). Lily looked at him with large doe eyes and said, “Are you sure you’re reading to have your crown stolen from you, Sirius?”

Sirius smirked. “I’d like to see you tr-”

The green sparks erupted from the tip of the wand between them.

“ _Tarantallegra_!” Lily cried, and the yellow spell darted towards Sirius, who only got half-way through his shielding charm when it hit him. His legs exploded in every direction, tap-dancing and shuffling and kicking high into the air. The horror on Sirius’ face was not enough to deter her, however, and Lily completed her domination of him with a quick, “ _Expelliarmus!”_

Sirius’ wand went flying into her awaiting hand and as he stared at her with some kind of stricken awe, his legs continued to dance a medley of every single dance under the sun, and all those above it.

Moody cancelled it nonverbally.

Datner was grinning widely as he announced, “Well, it looks like we have a new leader! If you’d like to choose your next opponent, miss.”

Lily glanced at him and then at the class. Her face was screwed up in concentration.

“Or perhaps we have any volunteers who’d be willing to take on the little miss here?”

Nobody put their hand up, and Lily didn’t seem to be able to choose anyone. Moody’s eyes ravaged the students, snagging on the Slytherin boys in the corner of the room.

“You,” he snapped, pointing a gnarled finger at one of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: FINALLY! AN UPDATE! I originally wrote this chapter and in the end, it came out as being over 8,000 words so I split it into two chapters. Hence the reason why Chapter 31 is going to be up in the next ten minutes:)
> 
> I'm gonna be stopping Author's Notes I think, because I'm probably pretty annoying!! (Sorry about marring your reading experience).
> 
> If you don't want me to, or if you ever want something explaining (as this fic can be pretty confusing, even for me!) then please tell me and I'll continue them. 
> 
> Other than that, Datner is going to be an essential original character for this fic and we'll be seeing a lot more of him in the later chapters;)
> 
> I also believe that you can tell a lot about something from their duelling ability and techniques. That's the reason why this part of the story is so long, because I wanted to include some key fights between key chararcters as you will see in approximately ten minutes...
> 
> Please try and remember to leave reviews, guys:( I haven't been getting any lately and it's Christmas!! So it seems only fair that this be my christmas present;) and in return, I'll post more chapters. Deal?


	31. Chapter 31- The Duel

Chapter 31- The Duel

The boy stared unwaveringly back. Lily went pale. James looked between the two with a frenzied uncertainty. Even Hermione felt unnerved; this was an undeniably bad idea- everyone could feel it.

James stepped forward and said, “I’ll do it. I volunteer.”

But Moody shut him down, shaking his head and his mouth twisted into an anticipated leer. “No, this one’ll do.”

The Slytherin slowly made his way to the front, drifting out of the shadows and into the centre of attention. His sallow face was continually sour, yet blank and no shred of emotion touched it.

Severus Snape stepped onto the platform and there was a hush over the classroom. He took his stance opposite Lily, who looked deeply troubled. Confliction flashed across her pretty face.

James was chewing his lip religiously, and the skin there bled. After a split second decision, he moved to the stage, resting his hands on the edge and looking up at Lily. “Lil,” he said quietly, so that no one else could hear. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. There was no room for negotiation.

He faltered. “Lil- Lily, you beat him, okay? Forget everything else but beating him… Pretend it’s me,” he offered her a small smile.

Lily let out a breathless laugh, but the knuckles on her wand hand were white. James stretched up to brush his fingers against her other hand, which was dangling by her side. Briefly. So briefly, and then there was the ghost of a touch between them.

She looked down at him and smiled. James smiled back. Then he backed away, returning to stand besides Sirius. He was still tense.

“On the green sparks,” Moody reminded.

There was silence. The green sparks graced the air and Snape raised his wand. Lily hesitated.

“Sev-”

Snape didn’t.

“ _Serpensortia!_ ”

A long, thick python burst from the end of the Slytherin’s wand. It writhed through the air, closer and closer to a stunned Lily. James was suddenly alert and he glanced at Datner to see if the Auror was going to intervene, but the man didn’t seem to be on the verge of action.

Licking his lips, James hurried forward, shouting, “ **Lily!** ”

She snapped out of her trance and, with a shaking hand, shouted, “ _Impedimenta!_ ”

The serpent slowed down, barely moving an inch. Snape didn’t care for this rebuttal. His face was still and empty and he spoke in a low voice, each syllable punctuated with inconspicuous poison.

“ _Engorgio!_ ”

And now, the snake was growing, larger and larger, until the width was easily the size of a large baby, and then a fully grown child. The length was increasing too, expanding both at its tail and at its head. Lily could only watch in horror.

The creature unhinged its jaw, and its fangs were retracted. It was close enough to her that its tongue could flick out and taste the fear in her perspiration.

Hermione wanted to scream and she clasped a hand to her mouth in unconcealed alarm.

“ _Incendio_.”

Moody cast the spell, intervening, and the snake erupted into flames. The heat billowed back into her face, and Lily, having closed her eyes at its proximity, did not open them even as it lay in a long line of ash on the floor. She was unbelievably white, looking as though she might melt or fade away.

“When I said Class 1 offensive skills,” Datner said, and his voice was the hardest it had been. “I meant the likes of which we have seen so far. Setting a deadly serpent on a fellow student is not only morally wrong, but also unacceptable. Believe me, you will pay for your actions and I will personally be seeing your Head of House.”

Snape was breathing deeply and there was a single strand of greasy hair shaking in front of one eye. He was staring at Lily as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had done. Lily looked the exact same way.

Malfoy was watching, and had an expression that suggested Christmas had been cancelled. Snape stepped off of the dais and his shoulders were slumped. He had his head down and walked with a numbness to apparently everything around him. And yet, not once did he flicker with even the slightest sliver of regret.

James’ fists were clenched by his side. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, and the firmness of his grip kept him cemented to the spot. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to march over to Snape and punch him repeatedly in the face.

Datner approached Lily, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Little miss, if you want to step down, that’s okay. You don’t have to continue-”

“I’m fine,” she said resolutely.

“Lily…” James had pushed to the front of the students, and there was a ragged disconcerting edge to his voice when he said her name. She looked at him and smiled slightly.

“I’m fine,” she said again. Only this time, she meant it.

James searched her eyes for any flicker of a lie before he turned to Datner and said, “I’ll go next.”

The Auror nodded, stepping back and resuming his position by the desk to the side. James stepped up onto the platform.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked a final time.

Lily shook her head at his concern and said, “I’m a little shaky but it’s nothing that’ll stop me from beating you.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah, you’re fine. Looks like I won’t be going easy on you, after all.”

“I’d be offended if you did.”

The green sparks appeared and the duel began. Next to Hermione, Sirius held out his hand to reveal two galleons and muttered to Remus, “Bets are lover boy lets Lily win.”

Remus smirked, shaking his head. His arms were folded across his chest and he said, equally as quietly, “No way. James’ll win. Hands down.”

They shook on it and Hermione raised her eyebrows at them.

“ _Macula_!” Lily declared, and the spell hit him soundly. James stumbled backwards and then his hands flew up to his glasses, lifting them off his head. He looked around blindly, and tried wiping the lenses on his shirt, before he put them on again. Then he let out an aggrieved moan.

“Aw, Lil. That’s unfair! I’m already blind, but this is really taking the Michael!”

Smug, Lily stole the chance to shoot a quick smirk at Marlene and Mary. James, despite the fact that he couldn’t see and everything around him was blurry (well, blurrier than usual), whispered, “ _Steleus!”_

The redhead scrunched her face up and her eyes closed tight of their own accord. She sucked her lips into her mouth and her head sunk into her shoulders. A loud sneeze left her.

“Oh, James!”

Hermione shook her head at their antics. Of course, he used the most harmless spell in the world on her.

Lily’s face was just as red as her hair, now, and the sneezes kept being torn from her, causing her body to shake and rack with the feeble assaults. James cancelled his own jinx and the sudden return of his sight made him recoil from the high definition of things.

“Petr-” she sneezed. “Petrif-” she sneezed again. “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

James hastily dodged the spell.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Lily tried again, and another sneeze followed the incantation.

He stepped out of the way of this one too.

“ _Melofors!_ ” James announced.

Lily didn’t even have a chance at avoiding or deflecting the jinx and within a mere second, her head was encased in a very large and very real pumpkin.

The class burst out laughing. Sirius, who was finding the situation far too funny to be glum at losing the bet, passed the money over to Remus, who pocketed it while fighting off a grin.

“James!” She cried, but the sound was muffled, through the walls of pumpkin flesh. “James!”

And then there was silence.

Lily sneezed again, and the entire pumpkin wobbled with the vibrations. James had had to clutch a hand over his face to try to control his laughter, but he couldn’t help it and he watched her and she put her hands on her hips.

Edging forwards, so as to avoid any lash out he may have caused, he said, “I was trying to get into the Halloween spirit!”

“I’ll show you Halloween spirit, in a minute Potter! And it will end with your broken body on the bloody floor!”

James shot an alarmed look at Sirius, who cracked out laughing all over again.

Moody thumped James on the back and said, “Well I think that one’s got to go to you, son. Let’s get that pumpkin off her head now.”

A nonverbal wave of his wand and Lily’s head was blissfully pumpkin-free, and she was no longer sneezing. She strode over to James and punched him in the arm, giving him a glare for good measure to let him know that she was most definitely **not** happy with him.

 

Lily made her way back over to Marlene, who was crying she was laughing so hard.

"How do you even know that spell?" Hermione called to him, in amused disbelief.

James smiled at her- he had only just managed to stifle his mirth to a few odd chuckles. "My dad loves pranks. And Halloween. And pranks at Halloween!"

Sirius smiled and commented fondly, "Ah, good ol' Charlie."

Moody waved a hand and said, “Quickly now, pick someone else.”

James dragged a hand over his face, which was red from lack of oxygen as he had been gasping with laughter. He tipped his head back and made a strange noise to release the remainder of his amusement, before turning back to the class. His eyes sparkled.

“C’mon, Moony,” he said and his lips were split into a huge grin. Remus was grinning as well and he edged through the students and allowed James to pull him up. Hermione gnawed at her bottom lip, eyes locking on Remus’ broken arm, which was still in a sling, supported limply at his chest.

“Why are you fretting?” Sirius asked, seemingly sensing her worry pouring off of her. He was stood on her right, and his arms were crossed.

She didn’t look at him. “He’s got one arm.”

He shrugged and said, “So? He’s done a lot more with a lot less.”

Hermione wasn’t convinced and she shook her head, glancing at him and saying, “ _So?_ He’s got a broken bone! If he so much as knocks it, the amount of pain he’d be in-”

“Would still not be a fraction of what he’s already experienced,” Sirius finished calmly.

Hermione trailed off, and she raised her eyes to Remus. Licking her lips, she still couldn’t swallow the nervousness eating her away and it practically emanated from her body.

“Now, just because you’re broken, doesn’t mean I’m going any easier on you,” James warned, preparing himself.

Remus raised an eyebrow. He shifted his sling carefully into a more comfortable position and flexed his good arm. “One-handed or not, I’d still beat you, Potter.”

James’ eyebrows danced.

Datner raised his wand, and his eyes flicked to both James and Remus. A lazy smile curled his lips.

The sparks exploded from the end, and into the air between the two of them.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Remus cast, flicking his wrist and the spell billowed out. James deflected it easily.

He dropped his arms to his side in exasperation and said, in melodramatic disappointment, “Really? Is that all you’ve got? Remy, your trash talk had me expecting so much more!”

Remus’ head rolled onto his shoulder and he was grinning.

It didn’t deter him, however, and he stepped forwards once more, calling, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

James nonverbally cast the shielding charm, and the spell was absorbed into the invisible defence. Within a second, Remus was sliding sideways again, casting spell after spell. The streams of light varied in colour; fluorescent blue and red and purple and orange. James was forced backwards, stumbling step by step, and his glasses slipped from his nose. His eyes were wide but focused, and he hastily slashed his wand up and down to either stop or reflect the incantations.

Eventually, he stopped and the last of Remus’ convoy of spells dissipated into the shield. James raised his chin, and his own attack began. The two boys were clearly skilled, and they danced back and forth, whipping their wands, occasionally muttering the spells, but mostly keeping their mouths sealed, all for the element of surprise. Remus was fluid, and he twisted out of the way, arching his back and slipping to the side. James was less elegant.

It was after a few minutes of this rapid duelling, one after the other, that a spell finally made contact with its target.

James leapt into the air, brandishing his wand and shouted, “ _Crescere!_ ”

It hit Remus’ gut and he froze briefly. Remus frowned, looking down at himself, and when he lifted his wand again, his mouth dropped.

“Are you joking?”

James had his eyebrows raised and he was biting his lip. “I think the _real_ question here, Moony, is are you _aware_ that you are growing fur at a rapid rate?”

And it was true. Every bare inch of skin was sprouting dark and thick hair

“What, Lupin?” Sirius called, his hands cupped around his mouth to magnify his voice. “One furry little problem not enough?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she nudged him in the ribs, _hard_. Peter burst out laughing, and the sound was high-pitched but unrestricted. Remus shot him an exasperated look and Sirius just grinned.

“It’s just _fur_ a while, Moony,” James cackled.

“I hate you.” Then, he quirked an eyebrow. “Two can play at that game, Prongs.”

Remus murmured, “ _Anteoculatia!”_

James stopped laughing, and his face contorted into one of discomfort and confusion. His hands darted up to his head and his eyes popped out of their sockets when he felt what was growing there.

“Antlers?!” He shrieked. “Bloody antlers?!”

“James, dear, the girls will positively fawn all over you!” Remus was grinning uncontrollably. The class guffawed at this display- but they had begun to expect nothing less from the Marauders. The antlers had shot up, and had begun to branch off into little detours of bone.

Sirius raised his eyebrows and announced loudly, fanning himself, “Never mind the girls _\- I’m_ fawning all over you!”

Whilst James freaked out and the students howled, Remus took the time to reverse his own spell and where the fur on his arms had reached two inches ( _two inches!)_ long, it shrank back into his skin. He rubbed his arms, and they were soft and smooth and bare, as though fur hadn’t been growing uncontrollably just seconds ago.

“ _Herbifors!_ ”

Remus had been so consumed in removing his fur that he was caught off-guard by the spell hurtling towards him. The green light hit his chest and at the very same time, little shoots burst from the top of his head. Daisies and buttercups and violets and (Hermione swallowed) dandelions shot into existence. He beamed, trying to ruffle the plants out of his hair, but they seemed interwoven with the very roots of his russet tresses.

Regarding James through smiling eyes, Remus sealed his lips, shaking his head. His eyes lit up then, brighter than they were before, and he whispered, “ _Cantis._ ”

James opened his mouth to retaliate or shield himself or do something, when song erupted from his lips instead, entirely- if the horror in his eyes was anything to go by- against his will:

“ _I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love_

_And it's bubbling for you!_

_Say Incendio, but that spell's not hot_

_As my special witch's brew!”_

Everyone laughed rambunctiously. Hermione tipped her head forward and she had to cling onto Peter as tears pooled in her eyes.

_“Don't you be afraid, come and take a sip_

_Of this steamy, tasty treat!_

_What's in my cauldron full of hot, strong love_

_Will make your life complete!”_

James’ face was pulled down into a miserable frown, but the song was contradictory. It was fast-paced and happy and, best of all, sensuous.

_“I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love_

_That's about to be unfurled_

_Got a flavour that beats anything_

_You'll find in the Muggle world!”_

Surprisingly, James was in-tune and the song was rather pleasant to listen to.

_“Mix a pinch of spice with a dash of charm_

_And a sprinkling of romance_

_They're why my cauldron full of hot, strong love_

_Is worth it, take the chance!”_

The end seemed to be nowhere in sight and his singing was matched in volume by the laughter that rang around the class. Sirius couldn’t even breathe.

_“Oh, come and stir my cauldron_

_And if you do it right_

_I'll boil you up some hot, strong love_

_To keep you warm tonight!”_

It stopped suddenly, and a few people protested in dismay. James was unarguably relieved.

“A’right, a’right, enough of that!” Moody said gruffly. He was the one who had cancelled the effects of the spell. Datner was wiping his eyes, grinning. “Time for someone else, I think. Clearly you two are an eye-for-an-eye pairing.”

James moved over to Remus, and the two were grinning, as he slapped him on the back, wrapping an arm around the taller boy’s shoulders. They both bowed, and hopped off the stage to the almighty cheers of the Gryffindor house.

Moody shook his head at the pair of them, and then his eyes roved the rest of the class. They fell onto Hermione. She tilted her chin.

A peculiar grin, if only for the shock that derived from its mere appearance, twisted his lips. He twitched his head towards the platform. “Why don’t we see if she can put her wand where her mouth is? Ever fought a trained Auror before, pip?”

“Moody,” Datner began, looking at Hermione unsurely. The other Auror ignored him, and heaved himself up onto the stage.

Hermione followed suit.

There was an erratic thumping to her heart and she could distinctly feel the adrenaline being infused into her bloodstream, pumping around her body to every organ. Her heart felt like it was on fire. Her head was blissfully clear. She had forgotten what this felt like; this _kill-or-be-killed_ instinct. However replicated it was, it felt as familiar to her as an old pair of gloves that you had once worn every single day.

She assumed the stance.

There was an undeniable hush that enveloped the room. Everybody held their breath, and anticipation was stark and heavy in the air. The previous humour of the last duel dropped almost instantaneously.

“On the green sparks,” Datner swallowed. He seemed cautious.

Hermione sucked in a long gasp of air. She tried to regain her war-ready senses.

The green sparks fired out into the empty space between them and the battle began. The gloves fit perfectly.

‘ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,’ she thought desperately, and the spell fired from her, speeding towards her opponent.

Moody slashed his wand up and the most powerful shielding charm caused the spell to bounce back off of it and head straight for Hermione. She mimicked his movement, and it was absorbed into her protection.

He sent out a beam of red light. Hermione simply stepped out of the way.

She retaliated with a quick procession of spells, one after the other. With each spell, she edged forwards slightly. They streaked from her wand with noisy cracks and splinters as they completely missed their intended target; Moody either dodged them or deflected them.

He twirled his wand, and a wave of power emanated from it, completely obliterating the wooden stage a mere inch in front of her. Hermione sprang backwards.

Moody murmured, “ _Aqua Eructo!”_ and a long, never-ending hose of water pistoled out. He had to clutch his wand with both hands to control it and he twisted it to follow her every movement. Hermione hastily put up a shield, but the water kept coming. The idea came abruptly and she acted as soon as it graced her mind.

Lowering her wand for a moment, the shield dropped, but she shouted, “ _Glacius!_ ”

Hermione winced, flinching away from the shoot of water that was heading straight for her, but not a drop touched her. The water, every single bit of it, had frozen over.

Moody let out an angered huff and made it disappear.

“ _Avis._ ”

The birds appeared in the air surrounding her, and she vaguely reminisced on the first time she had used this spell. But now was not the time to reminisce, and Hermione repeated the spell until an unassuming army of easily two hundred birds circled her head.

She couldn’t fight the smirk on her face. “ _Oppugno!”_

The birds swooped into action, diving forwards and aiming straight for Moody’s eyes. Their beaks glinted dangerously. Two hundred birds bombed the Auror, and his agonised yells could be heard through the cloud of feathers.  

Moody was clearly in pain and he raised his arms up to sheath his head and muttered, _“Confundo.”_

The birds paused in mid-flight. Then, they swirled into action, but did not resume their previous course. They pecked at one another, flew into each other, crash-landed. All were squawking and screeching and Hermione could only watch in horror as her birds destroyed themselves. She quickly waved her wand and said, “ _Finite Incantatem_.”

 

They disappeared into thin air, but she could not shake the image of them attacking one another. She felt sick. Her breath came in short bursts of tortured gasps.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” The panted exhalation caught her unaware and Hermione could only watch with wide eyes as she was flung backwards, and her wand flew from her grip.

Moody smirked, waving it slightly. He turned to the sea of spectators, and the Slytherin's were cackling at her supposed defeat. Cocking her head, she wanted to chastise him for being so complacent- in all her years of fighting, she’d learnt that it was dangerous to assume you had won until at least ten minutes after, for the victorious have the opportunity to fall, and the unconscious seem to have a habit of waking up.

Hermione, still in her position on the floor where she had landed roughly, focused on her magic. She closed her eyes, feeling it and relishing in the feel of it building up inside of her, mounting into something explosive. It was something she had learnt, practised time and time again when they had been on the run, in the dark seclusion of the night. But she’d never had chance to use it-

-Until now…

Hermione let it consume her. She opened her eyes, and the power crackled in the air around her, tickling her hair, lighting her on fire with pure magic.

Moody had only just sensed the shift in the atmosphere, for it snaked through the ankles of the students watching with gaping jaws, and nipped at bare flesh and merging with curiosity tangible in the air. He turned to look at her but it was too late.

Twisting her arms, Hermione pushed ahead of her, thinking only, with a strong and resolute decisiveness, ‘ _Ventus!_ ’

A gust of wind, like a homemade hurricane tore itself from her body, escaping into the air with a tremendous battle-cry, roaring as it went for Moody. The Auror’s coat was whipped backwards, and he was sliding away from the force of the tornado ravaging its way towards him. He scrambled for his wand, but it was futile. The wind ripped the thin stick from his fingers, as well as Hermione’s.

"OKAY!" He yelled. His voice was gruff, but a mere whisper over the wind's screams. "YOU WIN!"

Moody clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst. But nothing happened.

There was silence in the room and nobody dared move. Nobody dared breathe. They were stood, in blatant awe, at what they had just witnessed.

The greatest Auror in the country had just been bested… by a teenage girl.

Moody, dishevelled and panting, cracked open an eyelid to see that the wind had disappeared. Hermione was still on the floor, breathing deeply. Neither one of them spoke for a long time.

He looked at her with an impressed incredulity. Moody licked his lips and asked in vague disbelief, “Where’d you learn to fight like that, pip?”

Hermione let her lips curl. Fatigue meant the smile was small, but it was genuine, and she let her head fall back, let her eyes droop to close half-way, and all she said was, “I had a very good teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just quick- a 'pip' is apparently an old slang word for 'hotshot' and the like, someone who thinks they're really good at something.


	32. Chapter 32- The Slytherins

Chapter 32- The Slytherins

 

"How-? I mean, how did you learn to do that? _How did you do that?_ That was brilliant. Bloody brilliant! You beat an Auror, Mione! _An Auror!"_

"Are you quite finished?" Hermione asked dryly. Ever since Defence had ended, James had bombarded her with questions and exclamations. His disbelief and awe at what had just happened was amusing at first, but now, with no end in sight, the novelty had begun to wear off on her.

James smiled bashfully. "Sorry."

He was walking down the corridor with Hermione and Peter. Sirius and Remus had gone to their own class, which they shared on the opposite side of the castle. They had regretfully parted ways, Remus with his face still pleasantly surprised and Sirius had been laughing, and had given her a goodbye hug; a big bear hug that ended with her being spun around. Hermione still felt flustered and euphoric.

Peter grinned at her, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, "It _was_ good though! Wandless _and_ nonverbal magic! You shoulda seen Moody's face!"

James laughed at Hermione's exasperated (and slightly flattered) expression, before he clapped Pete on the back.

He said, "As much as I would love to stay and boast about how amazing our Hermione is, I gotta tinkle. I'll see you?"

"Yeah, okay."

With that, he shot them a smile and started walking in the other direction. James made sure to turn around and wave at them for good measure, even though he'd probably only be gone for five minutes or so. He was so focused in his dramatic rendition of farewell that he completely missed the pillar in front of him when he spun back around, and the collision saw his nose smashing into the stone.

Hermione burst out laughing. Peter's jaw dropped. James hastily collected himself, flicking his robes out and continued strutting as though nothing had happened.

Hermione just shook her head, letting herself smile as she and Peter walked on.

"It _was_ really cool, Mione," Pete said and his voice was quiet. He was blushing.

"Thanks," she replied, beaming at him and she hooked her arm through his. The pinkness in his cheeks darkened. "I'll teach you some day, if you want?"

Peter looked at her with wide eyes. "For real?"

With a smile, she said, “For real."

"Oh, Granger, that _is_ cruel," a voice drawled to the side of them. Hermione twisted around, and a glare immediately pulled her eyebrows and mouth down. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t unattractive, but there was a certain pointiness to his face which had her cringing nevertheless. Whilst she could clearly see Draco echoed in the aristocracy, the younger Malfoy had had something softer to his face, something warmer to his eyes. Lucius was just cold. He strolled towards them, followed by two other Slytherin boys. “Don’t lead him on. We all know he stands no chance with you.”

Peter looked down, and his blush had spread like wildfire to his neck and ears. Hermione glared at Malfoy and snapped, “Please, I’d much rather date Peter than the likes of _you._ ”

He snarled, starting forwards so he was mere inches away from her. She didn’t flinch away, but continued to stare unwaveringly at him. His breath was hot as he spat, “You should consider yourself lucky if I ever so much as glanced in your direction, Mudblood.”

Peter inhaled sharply, and his face was tense. He didn't look up as he murmured, "Don't call her that."

Malfoy shot to him. "What? I couldn't hear you."

Peter slowly raised his head and he repeated, "Don't call her that."

Hermione felt cautious and she turned to him and said, “It’s fine, Peter, really.”

He didn’t look at her, merely kept his eyes on Malfoy. She scowled at the blonde in question, “Is there a point to your intervention?”

“Yes,” he snapped. He was still close to her. She still didn’t cower away. “How did you do that?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How did I do what? Be specific.”

Malfoy’s entire face tightened as he said again, in a lower voice, “How did you manage to defeat Alastor Moody?”

“Like it’s hard?” Hermione asked pleasantly, if only for the contempt that spiked his expression. She diverted her eyes, swallowing. When she turned back, she shrugged. “I can duel.”

“But you’re a girl,” a voice from over Malfoy’s shoulder said in distaste.

She narrowed her eyes to slits, fixing the speaker with a poisonous glare. “Excuse _you._ ”

“ _I_ can duel, Granger,” Malfoy objected, stealing back her attention, and there was a certain forcefulness behind his words. He seemed to be closer to her now- she could feel every puff of furious breath against her face, feel the way it disrupted her eyelashes. “That doesn’t mean I can beat the best Auror in the country.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked over his shoulder once more, where she saw his friends standing. The taller of the two had one finger pressed against his lips. He appeared dark all over; dark hair, dark eyes, dark smudges, dark clothes, but she found there was a curious flame flickering. She didn’t recognise him, although knew she probably should. The other was broad and had a thick mop of sandy hair. His entire face was cruel and taut. He was the one who had insulted her gender. Uneducated prick.

Her eyes cut back to Malfoy. She rebutted casually, “He’s not the best Auror in the country.”

“Yes, he is,” Malfoy argued.

“Not yet.”

There was a pregnant silence and Hermione wanted to grapple for the words and force them back down her throat. She shouldn’t have said them. She prayed Malfoy wouldn’t pick up on them.

But of course, he did.

“Not yet?” He asked precariously.

She thought with avid desperation for an excuse, and her brain was whirring, flashing and aching.

Malfoy turned his head to shoot a bemused glance behind him and said, “Well, what on earth does that mean-?”

“I mean, he probably will be soon. He has the potential,” Hermione hurriedly explained. “But I feel a little exposed with the knowledge that he’s the best thing standing between me and Voldemort.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and his face drained of all blood. Peter let out a small whimper.

“You _dare_ say his name?” Malfoy uttered, and he looked unsettled, skittery,

“That much is evident,” Hermione replied scathingly, but she was relieved by this abrupt change in conversation. “Do keep up, Malfoy.”

His jaw clenched and he swept away from her, cloak billowing out. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The Mudblood is clearly crazy.”

“Nice chat, Malfoy,” she called after him. Then she paused. Hermione didn’t know when she had gotten so sarcastic, but she had a feeling it had something to do with a certain snarky werewolf.

It was only when Peter, next to her, tensed that she realised they still weren’t alone.

One of Malfoy’s friends, the taller, darker one, had stayed behind. He walked towards them.

Peter watched the boy carefully, eyes tracking his every step. The Slytherin seemed to notice, for he said in a deep but strangely pleasant voice, “I’m not going to hurt her. Don’t go yapping at my heels just yet.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he didn’t say anything. Hermione looked between them. If it came down to it, there was no question as to who would win in a fight. The Slytherin must have been well over six-foot, and Peter was nearly the same height as she was. Still, although he was just a puppy facing off a Doberman, Peter’s protectiveness warmed her heart.

Hermione turned back to the boy in front of her. He was staring at her with that same level of curiosity, chin raised ever so slightly, eyes locked on her face. She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“How did you do it?”

She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to ask him to elaborate when he added, “Beat Moody. How did you beat Moody?”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She felt her shoulder raise in a small shrug, and her eyes were downcast. The honesty burnt her tongue. “I don’t know.”

The Slytherin boy didn’t believe her. He pressed, “But you must. You fought like you’ve fought before. Properly fought, and not just a little play-fight in the garden under your mother’s supervision.”

His tone was light and educated, but he was pushing for an answer. She raised both her eyebrows and snapped, “Listen, here. I’ve told you I don’t know. I told your little leader the same. I don’t care if he threatened to- oh, I don’t know- feed you to the Merpeople if you don’t come back with answers! But I’m not telling you, and I’m certainly not telling Malfoy!”

“I’m not a lackey,” he said in a slow and delicate voice. It wasn’t really a refusal, more of a straightforward statement.

Hermione found the irony of this sentence amusing. “Not yet.”

The boy merely stared at her, that polite yet eager inquisitiveness glittering in his black eyes. He didn’t seem to really react to her outburst, and she couldn’t believe how very typically Slytherin that was. In the end, Hermione just stared back.

Eventually, the boy stepped forward and said, “Frédéric Avery.”

Hermione froze. This was not what she had expected. There was a small part of her screaming at the recognition of the name. She held out her hand and said, “Hermione Granger. Pleasure.”

Avery smiled, and it was a simple but miniscule tilt of his lips. He shook her hand gently. “I assure you, that is all mine.”

His eyes drifted to Peter, who looked rightly confused at the whole thing, and he offered a short nod in means of goodbye, before he turned away and started walking down the corridor.

She watched him go.

“Avery,” Hermione murmured under her breath, as soon as he’d disappeared around the corner. Peter looked at her.

“Did you know him?” He asked unsurely.

She felt her eyebrows pull into a frown and in worry, gnawed her lip. There was something familiar about his name, that was for certain, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was a Death Eater. But, and her eyes trailed to where she had last seen him, he didn’t seem capable of doing such horrendous things. Not yet, anyway.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

"Avery?" Sirius repeated, revolted. They were all sat at the Gryffindor table for tea. Peter had just finished recounting their earlier encounter with Malfoy to Sirius, Remus, Marlene and Mary. James and Lily were also there, but they were deep in discussion about the Halloween Ball, which they still hadn’t planned yet. Judging by the static of Lily’s hair, and the pinkness of her cheeks and the crooked slant of James’ glasses, things weren’t going well. Hermione slid her chin onto her fist. Sirius looked at her. "Which one's he?"

"Tall, dark, handsome?" Marlene prompted, jointing the conversation suddenly. She punctuated each word with a wave of her fork, which had the remnants of her desert clinging to the prongs.

Sirius shot to her and he spluttered, " _Handsome?_ "

Hermione hummed in thought. "Yeah, I suppose he was."

Sirius's eyes flicked to her now and he looked incredulous and deeply affronted. He said again, in a high voice, " _Handsome?_ "

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Sirius. You're not the only fine specimen on the planet."

Although he seemed quite appeased by this compliment, his offence followed soon after, and then the revulsion returned. “He’s a Slytherin!”

Marlene scoffed in disgust, crossing her arms and said, “You act like they’re a different species.”

Sirius gave her a look, with his top lip curled, and an expression that clearly thought this was obvious and needed no explanation. He said in a voice that claimed to belabour the details of this expression, “They are… _Evil!”_

“That’s not a species!” Marlene remarked snidely. “It’s a way of life.”

And the smile she fixed him with was dripping with poison. He stuck his tongue out at her.

Hermione felt their petty argument wash over her. There was a buzz in the air this evening, but maybe it just felt that way because it was so different to the mood at breakfast. Chatter drenched the hall, igniting the candles and filling everyone with a sense of contentment. Or perhaps everyone was simply choking, cramming themselves with normalcy to avoid the truth because it was just too scary. Fear was the most fluid director of all.

She let her eyes stray over Sirius’ shoulder to the Slytherin table. They weren’t really any different, Hermione noticed. Some students were laughing, joking and goofing about, others had their heads down in thoughtful conversation. You could almost forget you were going to be on different sides of a war. She found Avery in no time.

He was rather odd, she concluded, if not for the way that he was impossibly dark, then for the way he radiated an aura of delicacy and natural politeness. He was sat, head inclined to one side where the sandy-heard sexist that Hermione had had the pleasure of meeting, was talking gormlessly, but he didn’t seem to be listening. His finger was stroking his bottom lip, and a small frown pulled his eyebrows a centimetre or two down his face.

He looked at her abruptly. Hermione didn’t look away.

Avery stared at her, and she unwaveringly met his gaze. A sight tilt of his lips caught her attention. It was strange, really, how someone with such an overwhelming appearance could act with such minimalism. She raised an eyebrow.

Avery lazily dragged his eyes back to his friend, and Hermione regained her composure, resuming her scan of the Slytherins. Her eyes snagged on another dark-haired boy. Only, this one was younger by a year or two, and Hermione knew exactly who he was. He was staring at Sirius.

_("I know what you’re going to say, that Regulus changed his mind... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.")_

She couldn’t really remember that day- it ached, like it had happened long ago. But she remembered what she had said, and how she had felt about Regulus Arcturus Black.

He didn’t really resemble Sirius in the most apparent sense of the phrase, but there was a brightness to his eyes, and a beautiful youthfulness to his face, that had Hermione picturing his older brother. They were echoed within one another, interwoven. She heard the story that Sirius had told her, and it billowed through her mind, bouncing off of everything. She wondered how she hadn’t connected the dots before now.

**_(“He left him? He left his brother?”)_ **

Hermione watched as Regulus slowly turned his head.

**_(“Yeah.”)_ **

His eyes froze on hers.

**_(“I thought he loved him.”)_ **

They stared at one another. Regulus seemed to shift uncomfortably, before he looked down, standing up and walking out of the Great Hall.

**_(“Oh Kitten, I loved him more than he fucking knew.”)_ **

Hermione got to her feet. She leaned down and said, “I think I’m going to go see Professor McGonagall quickly. I still haven’t finished that essay she wanted us to do.”

“Hermione,” Sirius replied in exasperation. “She only gave it us yesterday!”

“Yes, but I’d like to finish it without rushing!”

“We’ve got a week,” he emphasised, as though she had not understood him the first time.

Remus, who had been quiet until now, shook his head and said, “Not everyone leaves it until the last day, Padfoot.”

At Hermione’s incredulity, he looked strangely proud of himself. “I thrive in the art of procrastination,” Sirius said. “I spend the first six days procrastinating and dreading the seventh, and when the seventh eventually comes, I spout some absolute codswallop about how woeful my life is to avoid getting in trouble for my said procrastination.”

“That’s terrible,” she pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“That’s Sirius,” Remus explained, then he raised his eyebrows, peering up at her, and asked in a softer voice, “Would you like some company?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Swallowing, she glanced at the door. Regulus had already disappeared from view. “No. Thank you, it’s awfully kind of you, but- it’s alright.”

She ruffled up his hair and offered him a smile. He pulled a face at the haywire collection of golden curls that wafted down over his eyes.

Lily looked up, blinking. “Are you going already?” She asked, frowning. “You’ve only just gotten here!”

Hermione cocked her head. “Lil, I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Oh,” she bit her lip. Then, she closed her eyes, letting her head fall forward onto the table. Hermione laughed at her dramatics.

James rubbed Lily’s back and grinned tiredly up at her. He offered, “See you back at the Common Room?”

She nodded, smiling.

Waving at the rest, Hermione wasted no time in following the Slytherin. She controlled herself, maintaining a brisk, yet normal, walk until she had left the hall, where she broke into a run. There was no way of knowing where Regulus could’ve gone, but she use her initiative and turned down the corridor that led to the Slytherin Common Room. There was a definite dankness to the air, and the stone walls seemed to weep- Hermione wondered if this was the affect that the house of the snakes had on everything, or whether this reaction was confined to inanimate objects.

Even though, she was running, and logically, she should have at least caught sight of him now, Regulus was nowhere. She slowed to a stop, frowning and surveying her surroundings. Nothing stirred. Nobody was down here.

Suddenly, she had an idea and she slipped out her wand.

Hiding behind the nearest pillar, Hermione whispered, “ _Accio Marauders Map!”_

There was a moment of frozen quietness, where the din of the Great Hall was progressively swallowed by the zoom of something getting closer and closer. Hermione let a grin steal across her face as her hand shot out to grab the map. It fell limp in her grip.

Hastily, she smoothed it out over her knee, eyes scanning every square inch, looking for something, _someone_. She found it soon enough.

“ _Ah ha!”_

Hermione tapped the map with her wand, muttering, “ _Finite Incantatum_.”

When the final syllable had left her lips, it went flying back the way it had come. James would never even know she had borrowed it- not that he would mind anyway.

She backtracked, all the way up to the foyer of the castle, and instead of turning down towards the Potions classrooms, she turned right, outside.

There was a chill in the air, and it pricked at her bare legs and arms, and incited the longing for her cloak, which she had left in her dormitory. The crunch of snow was loud beneath her feet and it soaked her socks. But as she caught sight of the lone figure, swathed in black by the lake, the coldness evacuated her.

“Hello,” Hermione said, when she got close enough. Regulus darted to look at her.

He didn’t speak.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Hermione Granger,” she smiled, offering her hand.

He glanced down at it, licking his lips. There was a raging conflict burning his face, but eventually, he just said, “I know.”

Her smile faltered and she was about to retract her hand, when Regulus reached out and shook it. He said quietly, “You’re friends with Sirius.”

“Yes.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She followed his gaze out towards the darkness of the lake, and wanted to berate herself for coming down here. What did she really think was going to happen?

Clearing her throat, she said, “You two don’t get along, do you?”

Regulus’ lips rolled together. He shook his head silently.

The numbness returned to her limbs and she wrapped her arms around her body, mentally scolding herself for not having the foresight to bring a coat. Her teeth chattered. Her bones seemed to ache.

Besides her, Regulus frowned at her. He sighed, slipping his robe from his shoulders and holding it out for her to take. Hermione’s lips parted in surprise.

“Oh no! I couldn’t-”

“Take it.”

Albeit hesitantly, she did. She took the robe from his outstretched hand and slid her arms through the sleeves, folding the fabric around her torso. The warmth flooded her, and feeling returned to her arms. Hermione closed her eyes out of sheer bliss.

Peeking at him, she chewed at the tormented skin of her lower lip, before she said,  “But you love each other.”

He froze.

“I saw you staring at Sirius today.”

Still, he didn’t say anything. Hermione pondered the possibility that he had lost the ability to speak. She kept her eyes firmly fixated on the ripple of the water, where the light dared to disrupt the velvety surface. She tugged the robe tighter.

“If it’s any consolation, he loves you too.”

“Bullshit.”

Hermione finally looked at him. “It’s true,” she said, an edge to her voice.

Regulus seemed ragged, fraying, as he shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “If he did, he wouldn’t have-”

She closed her eyes. For a second, only a second. “They were killing him, Regulus. They were killing him-”

“THEY WERE KILLING ME TOO!” He shouted, stumbling away from her and jabbing at himself. His face was screwed up. Hermione didn’t know what to say. She stepped towards him, but he recoiled. “They were killing me too… He was the only thing I had. He was the only place I could call home, the only person I thought loved me. And he _left_.”

She swallowed, blinking away her tears. The agony in Regulus’ voice was raw, catching on every word, every breath, and it tore through her. It shredded her.

“He hates himself for it,” she said quietly.

Regulus nodded. There were tears streaming down his face but he didn’t care. “Yeah,” he said. His voice was empty. But his eyes were on fire. “I hate him too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Quick disclaimer: I do not own anything. The characters and the snippet about Regulus are of JK Rowling’s wonderful creation!
> 
> For the guest who mentioned the lip thing, I never thought of it like that! I suppose it’s because I do it a lot. It’s a kind of nervous habit for me and I’ve noticed my friend do it when she’s uncomfortable, so I assumed everyone did it.
> 
> So yes! It’s a nervous disposition thin. It says on this website that someone licking their lips could mean a number of things:
> 
> -Dry lips
> 
> -Excitement (about an idea/thought- nonsexual)
> 
> -Habit
> 
> -Nervous Tick
> 
> -Lying
> 
> -Suggestive
> 
> But yeah, the reason why I write the action is almost never the latter! It’s always one of the former.
> 
>  
> 
> Also I just want to say a huge, huge thank you to everyone who is keeping track of this story. Your support is lovely! Merry [late] Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	33. Chapter 33- The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finallyyyyyy! It seems like forever since I updated! This is short, but only because I'm planning on writing the next chapter now. Originally, it was all supposed to be just one chapter, but this ended up being longer than I anticipated so I figured I'd just post them separately (so the chapter count looks more impressive;)

“You took your time,” Sirius noted when she walked through the Portrait Hole. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, startled.

“Oh,” she said, realising what he was referring to. “Yeah. I wanted to be thorough.”

She smiled tightly at him. Sirius didn’t seem to notice however for he laughed and said, “It’s you. I doubt you’d be anything but.”

She almost sighed in relief, but didn’t think she could afford it so she just made her way over to him and slumped down on the settee. Remus was looking at her carefully.

James' head shot to her and he said with wide eyes and a large grin that transformed his whole face, "Guess what, Mione? You'll never guess. Guess!"

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together in incredulous bewilderment and she looked questioningly at Remus, but he just rolled his eyes.

She opened her mouth to reply, when James cut her off, "McGonagall's moved the match to tomorrow so we can still play before the ball!"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling. Of course, excitement of this level could only stem from Quidditch. She pouted and said, "I was going to guess that."

James just stuck his tongue out at her.

She laughed. "I thought it was cancelled because of the Halloween Ball?"

James nodded. "It was, but McGonagall rescheduled it so we could still play!"

"And I see you're happy about that!"

She couldn't just see it. Hermione could feel his happiness in the air, and it was infectious.

"Who are you playing?"

"Ravenclaw," James answered. He was sat on the far side of the settee, with his legs stretched over Sirius and he was bouncing slightly. "We'll beat them though. We're bound to. Their Chasers are shocking. It's their Seeker they rely on. But honestly, even he's-"

Hermione zoned out then, feigning interest. James didn't even notice and he continued babbling on to no one in particular. She glanced around; Remus seemed distracted too, and he was frowning at his hand which was stretched out on the arm of the chair, Peter was rapt, hanging onto James' every word. Sirius noticed though.

He turned to her (he looked so much like his brother) and asked quietly, "So how are you?"

"I'm good, what about you?" She replied, smiling but not looking at him. She couldn't.

"Splendid now that you're here," he replied, flashing her a cheeky grin, and he cheeks grew hot, then his face turned stony. "No more Slytherins bothered you, did they?"

"No," Hermione rolled her eyes. "And even if they did, I wouldn't need your help _or_ protection. I could handle them all by myself."

Sirius smoothly brushed this off by tucking a stray curl behind her ear and saying, "I know you could, Kitten. I highly doubt anyone would try to mess with you now. I think the whole school heard about Moody, and I don't reckon any of them want to follow in his footsteps. World knows you got claws, sweetheart"

Hermione groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "The whole school?" She repeated, horrified at the mere prospect. Apparently, her voice had been loud for it gained the attention of all three of the boys who had previously been engaged in the conversation of Quidditch.

Peter nodded and chirped, "As soon as you left, they all started talking about you."

Hermione's eyes widened. Remus' closed in exasperation and he fixed Peter with a steady gaze as he said, "I thought we agreed not to mention that?"

"Oh," Pete blushed. "Yeah."

She tipped her head back and groaned again, for longer this time, and the noise sounded like one long, loud continuous drone. A few first years glanced over at her worriedly.

"Erm," James hesitated. She shut her mouth and looked at him. "Don't mean to sound like an idiot, but why exactly is this a bad thing? Isn't it good? I mean, no one'll dare mess with you. You're untouchable."

Hermione swallowed. "Exactly. I don't want to make a fuss." Her eyes flicked around her and she lowered her voice. James leaned closer to her, almost secretively, and she said, "I can't risk gaining suspicion. Not now. Not so early on!"

A look of understanding dawned on his face and he leaned back again.

"Then why didn't you let Moody win?" Remus asked, frowning.

Hermione paused. To be totally honest, it was a good question. Why hadn't she let him win? If blending in was her goal, why did she just duel and defeat the greatest Auror in the country in front of future Death Eaters?

"Hm," she bit her lip. "I don't know."

But then she couldn't shake the pride that accompanied the euphoria at her victory, and the smugness that arose from proving Mad-Eye wrong.

"It was so brilliant though!" Sirius exclaimed. "A real spectacle!"

Hermione blushed. Peter laughed, but he was nodding.

"It really put mine and Moony's fight to shame," James agreed.

Remus grinned, "Speak for yourself."

Peter yawned suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. He blushed when he noticed their eyes on him and muttered a sheepish apology.

"Don't apologise, Pete," James said, grinning at his friend. "Think you've got the right idea there. Need to get an early night for the match tomorrow!"

He jumped to his feet, flashing Hermione a smile. "Night, Mi. See you at the match! I expect to see you with a homemade sign that professes your undying love for me!"

He winked at her. She burst out laughing. "Oh yeah, it's under my bed. I made it ages ago, Jamesie, just for you."

James swooped over to her to give her an upside down sloppy kiss on the forehead. His hands cradled her chin. "Oh, I knew I loved you for a reason."

Remus found his arm interesting again. Hermione laughed even more, and her heart felt light and fluttery in her chest.

"Come on, Pete," James said, and the two boys retired to their dormitory.

Sirius stood up too and announced, "Well, I think I'm gonna go to sleep too. This face isn't naturally this beautiful." He paused. "I mean, it is. But without beauty sleep, it would be less beautiful."

He grinned at her and Hermione rolled her eyes, swatting him playfully. Sirius barked out a laugh. His hand played with the hair on the top of her head. "Are you going, Kitten?"

"No," she replied, leaning into his touch. "I think I'm gonna do some homework."

"More?" Sirius asked unbelievingly. He shook his head. "This school is going to work you to death! Don't stay up too late, okay?"

Once he had gotten a nod out of her, Sirius smiled before he followed his friends.

Now it was just Remus and Hermione. They both got to their feet. She wasn't sure what she should do. He seemed annoyed with her, but she couldn't conjure up any reason for it. There was a slight tension in the air.

"Have fun at the library?" Remus asked. Hermione avoided his gaze.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you get lots of work done?"

"Yes."

He didn't say anything for a second or two, and she chanced a glance at him, and regretted it instantly. He was watching her with a strangely blank expression, which, when it came to Remus, meant only one thing- he was thinking. Hard. She looked away again.

"That's funny," he said casually. "Seeing as you left your Transfiguration book at the table."

Hermione's eyes shot to him and they zeroed in on the blue book in his hands. She tried to explain, "Remus, I can-"

He held out the book for her and said, "It's fine. You don't have to tell me, Hermione. Just please don't feel you have lie to me."

She opened her mouth to speak then paused. Remus watched her intently. She knew he was waiting for her to prove him right, to say something. But... Really, what could she say?

When she closed her mouth and looked away from him, Remus sighed. They stood in silence for a few moments, before he said in a low and slightly pained voice, "I've been honest enough with you, Hermione. I've bared more of my soul to you than even Sirius has seen. Please don't push me away now."

And he brushed past her, gently placing the book in her hand, before he disappeared up to his dormitory. Hermione stared at the space he had just been standing in, numb down to her core. She closed her eyes.

Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn't she just come clean to someone? Why couldn't she have someone to come clean to?

She was surrounded by friends and yet, she'd never felt more alone.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Hermione tossed and turned in bed later that night. She had stayed in the Common Room for hours, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Her eyes stung and her brain felt like mush. And yet, there was only one thing that wasn't indecipherable.

His face swam to the forefront of her mind, all sharp cheekbones and dark smudges and she heard the anger and hurt reverberate in his voice.

_(“They were killing me too… He was the only thing I had. He was the only place I could call home, the only person I thought loved me. And he left.”)_

She let out a small, shaky breath.

"Hermione?" A groggy voice murmured from the bed next to hers. She looked over and saw a very tired-looking Lily rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing awake?"

"Can't sleep," Hermione said. It was true. Her head felt like it was on fire.

Lily pulled a face and said, "I hate it when that happens. When you can feel the fatigue in every part of your body but you can't alleviate it."

She twisted her neck back so that she could see Hermione without having to change positions. Hermione sighed and said, "It's not just that."

Lily frowned, immediately concerned. "Why? What's wrong?"

Regulus' face flashed once more before her eyes. She closed them.

"Nothing," she lied.

"Hermione," Lily reprimanded.

Hermione sighed. How could she possibly explain it without telling her everything? It wasn't that she didn't trust Lily. It was rather the opposite- she would trust Lily with her life. It was just that Hermione made an obligation to herself, a promise to save as many people as possible in saving the Wizarding World, and she couldn't risk the possibility of failure. If she failed anything she put her heart out to do, then the future might as well be poisoned.

She couldn't tell Lily. There were too many unsavoury outcomes at the moment, especially as everything was just getting started.

"Hermione?" Lily prompted gently.

Hermione opened her eyes. "It's just-" she began, breaking off. "It's just so hard to save people, you know? When you see someone, someone who's good, deep down... Someone who's destined for bad things, terrible things... Someone who has no real choice..." Her voice was quiet, getting smaller with each word as the picture of a blonde boy falling to his death invaded her. Hermione inhaled sharply. "It's hard to watch them fall, and know you could've done something about it. It's just so difficult! They're so difficult! They refuse to help themselves!"

Lily frowned, and she rolled onto her side, propping her head up. She said, "You can't save people who just don't want to be saved."

"But what if they do want to be saved? What if they're just scared?" Hermione pressed, and her whispers were fractured and furious against the serenity of the night.

Lily shook her head and she leaned forward a little. "Hermione," she said softly. "If there's one thing I've learnt about fear, it's that you can't conquer it. There are very few things stronger than fear. It's like a virus, eating away at you forever. The bravery that someone would have to possess to overcome it is astounding."

Hermione slumped into her pillow. Of course, she knew that what Lily was saying was true, but she couldn't bring herself to accept that Regulus Black was a lost cause.

"There has to be something," she murmured. "There has to be some way of protecting him."

Lily bit at her finger. She seemed to be contemplating something and when she finally asked what she was thinking, it was in a very careful voice, "Who?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I would but, and I mean this in the nicest way, you'd probably tell someone."

"I'm not a tattle tail!" Lily said crossly.

Hermione closed her eyes. "It's not that," she said. "It's just it would probably be difficult to understand why I'm doing it. For him, of all people."

Lily stared at her, chewing away at her fingernail. Eventually, she stopped and said, "Is it Black?"

Hermione forgot how to breathe.

"What?"

"Sirius," Lily elaborated.

"Oh, no," Hermione replied and she prayed the relief she felt was not as obvious as it was profound. "No, it's not Sirius."

When she glanced at Lily, she saw the redhead's indecipherable expression. But she just shook it off, feeling her eyes droop a little. Yawning, Hermione said, "Well, I think I'm going to try get some sleep. James would kill us if we missed the match."

"Okay," Lily murmured. "Goodnight."

As Hermione rolled over and pulled the covers right up under her chin, Lily said quietly, "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

There was silence; so long that she thought for a second that Lily had fallen asleep. But the next statement disproved that, and also left a numbing dread in Hermione's veins.

Lily said in the darkness, "Just because someone's a Slytherin, doesn't mean they're inherently evil. Good and bad can coexist. Some people are just scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, Sirius isn't really jealous when James kisses or cuddles Hermione. This is because he knows that James is in love with Lily, completely and irrevocably. Keep a look out for the next chapter!


	34. Chapter 34- The Quidditch Match

** Chapter 34- The Quidditch Match **

 

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered. The soft streams of sunlight escaped through the cracks in the curtain above her bed. She stirred, rolling onto her side to burrow her face further into her pillow, as if it would protect her from the clutches of consciousness. It didn’t.

She huffed, sitting up blearily and rubbed at her eyes. “What time is it?”

No one answered her.

Frowning, Hermione looked around. The dormitory was empty. “Lily?” She called, craning her neck to see if there was anyone in the bathroom. “Mary? Marls?”

There was no reply. She glanced at the clock on Mary’s bedside table and her eyes widened.

“ _Fuck!”_ She swore, then clapped a hand over her mouth. It didn’t matter, however, as no one else was in the room to hear her. They were all down at the match. Coincidentally, where she should be.

Hermione flung back the covers, jumping out of bed and she knelt down to rummage through her chest. There were no clothes in there apart from her school uniform. Ever since she’d arrived, she had been simply wearing her white blouse, with times when she’d occasionally borrowed Lily’s old clothes that were either too small for her, or she didn’t like anymore and didn’t mind Hermione borrowing.

She had no idea what she was going to wear. Her eyes found Lily’s chest at the foot of her bed, and she chewed her lip. No. Hermione shook her head. She couldn’t wear anymore of her clothes.

Then what  _could_  she wear?

Hermione stood up quickly and darted out of the room and up into the boy’s dormitory. She could tell which one was Remus’ from the messiness of his duvet and the multiple piles of clothes around the bed. She spotted what she was looking for, splayed out on the floor, and reached down for it, holding it to her chest. The jumper was brown and worn-out and Hermione inhaled it. It smelt of him, of cheap aftershave and chocolate, and something else. Something muskier and smokier. Sirius.

It was the jumper he had given her to her to wear on her second night in the past. She hoped he wouldn’t mind. He’d already given her permission to wear it once… She just hoped that hadn’t yet expired.

She took it back to her room, changing into her school skirt, thick tights and brogues and tucking Remus’ jumper in. Hermione glanced in the mirror, and swallowed. Her hair was all over the place and she tried to pat it down on the top, but in the end, just sighed. Tearing her eyes away from her reflection, she grabbed her Gryffindor scarf and ran out of the Common Room and all the way down to the pitch.

Outside, it was quiet and cold and there was a hum of distant exhilaration in the air. Hermione paused, suddenly getting an idea, and she swooped down to pick something up off the ground, before continuing. Luckily, everyone seemed to already be at the match and she made it there within no time, slipping through the Gryffindor bleachers, whilst trying to catch her breath.

“Hermione!”

Spinning around, she caught sight of Lily and pushed past a few people to get to the redhead, who was stood on the very front row.

“I haven’t missed anything, have I?” Hermione peered over and saw that the players weren’t even on the pitch yet. She let out a long breath of relieved air that she hadn’t realised she had been holding in.

“No, they haven’t started. I tried to wake you up, but you were dead to the world!" Lily cried, an apologetic expression marring her pretty face. "I figured an extra half hour of sleep wouldn't hurt anyone... I guess you overslept on your oversleep too..."

Hermione looked at her in surprise. “Don’t worry! It’s fine. I feel a lot better this morning.”

Peter came over to her then and he pulled her into a hug. “James was so worried this morning! He thought you weren’t coming!”

“Of course I was,” she replied. Then she frowned. “Where’s Remus?”

Pete shrugged, “I dunno. He’ll be around here somewhere. It’s not like he has any other friends.”

Hermione exchanged a grin with him, and he looked happy that she had appreciated his joke.

“Peter!” Mary bounced over, hooking her arm through his. “Oh, hey Hermione! Come on, we need to get a good spot!”

“Okay, I’m coming,” he said, as she started pulling him off. He pulled an apologetic face. “Sorry, Mione… I, erm, gotta go.”

Her lips curled at the tell-tale blush staining his neck and ears and she shouted after him, “Okay, I forgive you. Have fun!”

“Hermione?” Someone called her name again and her head whipped around to see Remus weaving between the crowd to get closer to her. Her face lit up and she met him half-way.

"There you are!" He exclaimed, and he seemed pleased to see her. Hermione felt a sliver of relief at the worry she hadn't even noticed was gnawing away at her. She moved to stand next to him. "James was clucking like a mad hen this morning. He thought you'd miss it."

"No," Hermione said, smiling. "I just overslept." There must've been something in her voice when she said that for Remus' expression morphed into one of concern. She explained "I didn't get much sleep."

Guilt flooded his face. "Hermione," he started. "I didn't mean to be so harsh with what I said last night. You don't have to tell me anything, I was just being a  _twpsyn_."

"A what?" She blinked at the foreign word.

"Idiot," he hastily corrected.

“Welsh?” She queried. His sheepish grin was answer enough.

Licking her lips, which had gone dry from the cold air, she said, “No, you were right. You’ve done everything for me. More than everything. I owe you. The truth is the least I could give you.”

Remus looked down, and frowned. A small smile curled his lips and he reached up to touch her with his good hand, but it froze in the space between them. He met her eyes. “Is that my jumper?”

She blushed, playing with the hem of the sleeve. “It might be.” She sighed. “I didn’t have anything to wear and I figured you wouldn’t mind. I’ll take it off as soon as I get back, I promise-”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It looks better on you anyway. Just make sure you don’t let Sirius see you wearing it. He’s been after it for years.”

He smiled crookedly. Hermione felt her throat go tight, and she had to turn her head to hide the smile threatening to break out across her face. Her hands were sweating, and that was when she remembered what she had clutched in her grip.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, looking back at him. “I forgot.”

Remus cocked his head in puzzlement. Hermione held out her fist and slowly uncurled her fingers. Inside was a small, slightly crushed flower. She pulled a face at how broken it was in comparison to when she’d found it, but Remus didn’t seem to mind. His entire face cleared and he gently picked it up and laid it flat in his own palm.

“You know,” he said, smiling. “Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of bright blue flowers for her, but because of the weight of his armour, he fell into the water. As he was drowning, he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted, ‘ _Forget me not!_ ’ And that was how they named the flower.”

Hermione smiled at him, shaking her head. “How do you know that?”

“In Wales, there were loads of them in the forest near where I lived. My mum used to take me on walks and we’d pick them… She told me the story,” Remus said and there was a sort of wistful reminiscence in his voice.

“She sounds lovely,” Hermione said softly. He nodded.

“She was.”

Hermione felt her eyebrows pull together, and she felt faint as she repeated, “Was?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then said, “She died.”

“Oh,” an immediate sense of dread washed through her and she briefly closed her eyes. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, waving off her apology.

“What was she like?” She asked quietly.

“Crazy,” Remus smiled. “She was a muggle. My dad was the wizard. She was always telling stories of how they met and adding in ridiculous details like dragons and knights riding on horseback.” His eyes were shining. “Even after I’d been bitten, she still loved me and did everything for me. She was the most wonderful woman in the world and an even better mum… She had a heart attack last year.”

Hermione slipped her hand into his, and rested her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck. He was very warm, and she melted into him, relishing in the way his chest rose and fell against hers, and how their heartbeats almost aligned.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” she said. “I was kind of in a rush.”

He chuckled and let go of her (she felt cold where his arms had been) to take off his coat, which was easier said than done with his still broken arm. She eyed it warily, protesting that she wasn’t  _that_  cold and it didn’t matter, but he persisted, and succeeded in removing his coat. With one hand, he wrapped it around her, sorting out the collar. There was little space between them. He then put his woolly hat on her head, making sure it covered her ears.

Hermione licked her lips. There was even less space between them.

“Remus!”

They broke apart and now there was more space between them. Looking in the direction of the voice, they saw a bubbly girl with short brown hair coming towards them, holding a massive sign in her hands. She was quite small, with a round face and brown eyes. Her hair was cut into an uneven bob and she had her tie wrapped around her head to hold it back from her face.

“Alice,” Remus acknowledged. He turned to Hermione. “This is Alice Fortescue. She’s a sixth year.”

“Hi!” Alice greeted, smiling widely. “Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you!”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. “I’m Hermione.”

“Alice. Well, you know that- Remus just said it. I would shake your hand if my hands were empty.”

She had red and gold face paint decorating her cheeks and forehead and her sign, although Hermione couldn’t see it all, had a distinct theme of red and gold to it. And were those flashing lights?

“I take it you like Quidditch?”

Alice raised her eyebrows and nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, I love it! My uncle used to play professionally, you know. For the Chudley Cannons. Of course, they never actually went anywhere, but it got me into the sport. My boyfriend, Frank, is on the team.”

“He’s the Keeper,” Remus supplied.

“And a keeper he is, eh Remus?” She joked, lips still stretched in a toothy grin. Remus shook his head but he was smiling. She turned to Hermione. “You know, you don’t look very patriotic. Here, I’ve got some paint leftover somewhere…” Alice passed her huge poster to Remus, who held it awkwardly, and began feeling about in her pockets. “I think…”

Eventually, her eyes lit up and she retrieved two small circular tubs of red and gold. She twisted the lids off and dabbed her fingers in the paint, looking at Hermione for permission. She nodded and Alice squealed, and began gently drawing two stripes on both of her cheeks.

“Stop being so happy,” she muttered and Hermione stopped smiling abruptly. Remus let out a surprised laugh at Alice’s bluntness.

Alice stuck her tongue between her teeth as she perfected her work and she finally stepped back, the tips of her fingers still stained in vivid colour. “There! Perfect! Now you look the part!”

“Does it come off?” Hermione asked, as the other girl wiped her hands on her coat but to no avail.

She wrinkled her nose. “Eventually.”

At Hermione’s look of horror, Alice started laughing loudly. Remus was grinning.

“ **Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m your commentator, Bernie Perkins-** ”

“Isn’t that the boy Lily’s seeing?” Hermione asked, as they were all distracted by the booming static of the commentary.

Remus grimaced. “Sounds like it.”

“- **and I’m going to be revising what happens at this match as it happens. Now, let’s welcome out our teams! First up, we’ve got the blues, the eagles, the seven-piece side with a strategy sure to succeed- It’s _Raaaavvvenccllaaawww!_  There’s Robertshaw as the Captain, and Beater extraordinaire, followed by Chasers Poncewick, Dibble and Slander! Then, the Keeper, Vane! Tomilski makes the second Beater! And the one, the only, Seeker Hopkins!**” The opposite side of the stadium erupted in cheer, while the Gryffindors booed. All of Slytherin had decided to support Ravenclaw (if only for the fact that they were against the House of the Lions).

“ **And their opposition… Led by the legendary Potter, it’s the undefeated, the unmatched, the unparalleled reds, the lions, the current reigning team in the entire league- _Gryyyyffffffindooorrr!_  Captain Potter leads the way, proceeded by the other two Chasers, Donner and Mayborn! Longbottom, holding the title of the Most Goals Saved by any Keeper last year’s next! McKinnon and Black form the Beaters (and what a feisty looking duo they are!), followed by their Seeker, Lee!**”

There was a gigantic roar as the spectators in the red and gold stands exploded in euphoria. Alice sobered up, running to the very front of the bleacher. She screamed, waving her hands and then looked up at said hands, which she had only just realised were empty. Spinning round, she fixed Remus with an incredulous expression.

“Did you steal my sign?”

He raised an eyebrow and handed it back to her so she could resume screaming.

Remus took hold of Hermione’s elbow, murmuring, “Come on,” before he led her to the other side of the stand they were in. Everyone was clapping and hooting as the teams walked onto the pitch, waving to their fellow students and holding their brooms. He took her to a little perch near the steps, where there was space for them to squeeze to the front.

“Is she always like that?” Hermione asked, having to shout over the supportive shrieking to be heard.

“Who? Alice?” Remus called back. “Yeah, she’s a little eccentric but everyone loves her! Always falling  _over_  or  _down_  things!”

She shook her head, grinning, and turned back to the pitch. It struck her quite suddenly and had her reeling at the fact she hadn’t realised sooner: she had just met Neville’s mother. Her body seized up. That bubbly girl with the red and gold face, with the toothy smile and uneven bob and flashing sign, would soon be tortured into insanity and left to a fate worse than death-

“Hermione?” Remus leaned close to her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “Yeah I’m fine. Just thinking.”

His expression cleared. He ducked even lower so his mouth was mere centimetres away from her skin. “You knew her, didn’t you? In your time?”

Hermione remembered the woman in the hospital, with the round face and empty eyes, handing a sweet wrapper to the boy she didn’t even recognise was her son.

She blinked back tears, glad that Remus was stood behind her. “I guess you could say that.”

She let her eyes roam the ground, snagging on individuals. James looked striking, tall and regal. He was grinning, waving at people, and then laughing at something one of the other players was saying- it was obvious to anyone looking on that he was in his element.  He seemed distracted, however, and his eyes were scanning the stands. Hermione leaned over the barrier and waved her arms wildly, whooping. She stumbled a little and Remus immediately looped one arm around her waist, holding her in place.

“I’m not going to fall!” She laughed. Her face was flushed from the cold.

Remus quirked a wry smile and said, “With you, I wouldn’t risk it. You seem to be danger-prone.”

She dropped her head down, over the railings, as she laughed some more, and his arm tightened around her torso.

“For safekeeping,” he explained, but that didn’t explain the erratic speeding up of his heart. It was the same sort of racing that he felt when Sirius grinned, the fear and euphoria all at once. He wondered whether it actually was safekeeping, or whether this was something so much more dangerous than even he could anticipate.

She started shouting, trying desperately to get James’ attention. His eyes skimmed past her, searching for something, but they shot back to her all the same. James’ whole face morphed into one of extreme surprise and happiness. He grinned at her, waving away and Hermione screamed instead, chanting his name. His cheeks heated up and he ducked his head, pleased but mortified.

Her screams dissolved into laughter and she was once more pulled back by Remus, when she doubled over the edge. Hermione spun around to face him. His cheeks and nose were frost-bitten, an angry red and although he hadn’t said anything, he was shivering, evidently freezing. Frowning, she felt his cheek, then smacked his shoulder that was sling-free.

“Why didn’t you say you were cold?” She demanded.

“I’m not.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed, conceding in an extremely quiet voice, “I’m a werewolf, Hermione. Out of the two of us, who do you think is really going to suffer more from the cold?”

“That’s not the point!” Hermione argued, but she failed to find a valid argument to go on with. Her eyes flicked to his sling. “You’re broken!”

Exasperated, he looked at her. “I’m broken?”

She grimaced.

“I’m fine.”

But as he repositioned his arm, the pained hiss that left his lips did nothing to support this sentence. She remembered what James and Sirius had said.

“Why didn’t you let Madam Pomfrey fix it for you?” Hermione asked quietly, not looking at him.

Remus swallowed. “It’s better if I let it heal naturally-”

“That’s bullshit, excuse my language.”

His eyes shot to her in surprise. She met his gaze. “You’re not letting anyone help you because you think you deserve it. You blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in the world because you have yet to realise that you are  _not_  a bad person.” Remus was staring at her. There was a tension in every line of his face. Hermione continued on, her voice and words getting more and more heated. “You fail to see that you are perhaps one of the most  _brilliant_  wizards I will ever meet, and yes, I mean  _ever_  meet- and I’ve met a few! You fail to see that there are so many people who care and love you and that none of this was your fault. And yet you continue to punish yourself for something out of your control! I mean,  _for heaven’s sake_ , Remus! Pull your head off the ground and stop moping and start being rational,  _goddamit_!”

There was silence after her outburst, even against the ongoing cheer of the crowd as the two Captains shook hands. Remus still just stared at her. He didn’t know what to do or say, so he merely said nothing as her chest heaved and she got her breathing under control.

Hermione held out her hand and said finally, “Let me mend it for you.”

Remus licked his lips, glancing away fleetingly before he said, “Alright.”

She gently removed his broken arm, trying to ignore the way he winced, and held it in one hand. The other reached into her skirt to retrieve her wand, which she had tucked in the hem for lack of any alternative place to store it.

Remus raised an eyebrow, “In your knickers?”

“It’s a surprisingly safe place to keep it… and it stops me from losing it.” His eyebrows knitted together in a dubious frown. She pulled back his sleeve and the exposed skin there erupted in goosebumps. “This might smart a little,” Hermione warned. “ _Brackium Emendo.”_

Remus inhaled sharply, scrunching his eyes up at the pain. There was an audible crack and she slid her wand back into the hem of her skirt, but didn’t drop his arm.

_“ **And they’re off!** ”_

The commentary began, but Hermione simply continued to look at Remus. He still hadn’t opened his eyes and she daren’t let go of him, in case it hadn’t worked.

“Remus?”

His eyes flew open. Swallowing, he gingerly flexed his fingers, before moving his arm. Her hand dropped to her side. A whoosh of air whistled through his lips.

“Thanks.”

She smiled at him.

“ **-AND the Quaffle is in Gryffindor possession. That’s Captain Potter, zooming through the Ravenclaw players, and _look at him go!_ Always liked Potter. He’s a really nice bloke-  _Ah_ , but what’s this? Tomilski’s coming up from behind, bat at the ready… And the Bludger goes flying! Will it hit him? Has he even seen it? That’s the question and _\- oh!_  He must’ve seen it! He must’ve for that tailspin was a  _beauty!_  Poncewick and Dibble are catching up now, trying to take possession of the Quaffle but Potter drops it!  _He’s dropped it!_  Why did he do tha-  _Ah,_  straight into Torple Mayborn’s hands! She rockets off and now it’s just a case of getting the thing through the hoops… which, can she do it? Can she score the first ten points of the game…? THE ANSWER IS YES SHE CAN, LADIES AND GENTS AND MAYBORN SCORES! TEN-NIL TO GRYFFINDOR!**”

Hermione contributed to the almighty roar of the crowd, and she tugged Remus closer to her, wrapping the excess material of his coat around his waist.

“This coat wasn’t made for two people,” he said.

“Pity. They should really invent that next.”

“You mean they don’t have that in the future?”

Hermione hummed in thought, “Well, it seems to become fashionable to wear blankets out in public, so I’m guessing they had no need for a two-man coat.”

He shook his head at her, but let her try warm him up nevertheless.

“ **Now, Ravenclaw is in possession of the Quaffle. Slander shoots down the pitch, obviously trying to make up for this early lead the reds have claimed and- OH! STRAIGHT IN THE BACK! That’s gotta hurt! McKinnon has nearly incapacitated one of the other team already and we’re not even five minutes in! Anyway, back to the game. Mayborn has got the Quaffle again. Straight pass to Donner. Donner passes to Potter, who has Black circling him like some lost puppy. This isn’t too rare of a sight, however, and is a common occurrence both on and off the pit-** ”

Bernie Perkins let out a shriek and Hermione’s head shot to the teachers’ stand, where he was sat, to see a noticeable indentation in the wood.

“ **Mr Black! The next time you aim a Bludger at a student who is not playing the game, I will personally escort you off of the pitch** ,” McGonagall’s highly disapproving voice echoed through the loudspeaker.

Sirius swung for a well-aimed Bludger at one of the Ravenclaw players instead, and it knocked the poor boy straight off his broom. Thankfully, he hadn’t been too high up and only fell a few metres before he hit the ground. Hermione frowned. Sirius seemed to be in a mood over something, but she had no idea what.

She turned back to look questioningly at Remus, but his eyes trailed past her, and snagged on something. They glassed over like Ron’s used to when he watched Quidditch. It still sometimes surprised her how much of a boy her former Professor was. She followed his gaze and saw him watching Sirius, who was drifting about on his broom; his bat was loose in his hand, his eyes narrowed on the Quaffle on the other side of the pitch. His dark hair was blowing in the wind, and he looked like some sort of fallen angel. Hermione looked back at Remus, and she noticed the newfound emotion playing across his face. There was something lingering there, just below the surface; something she couldn’t put her finger on. But it was gone before she could put a name to it and he snapped his eyes back to her and smiled.

The game from then on was largely uninteresting. Gryffindor were, by far, the superior team and the Chasers flew up and down the pitch with a fluent ease and dived in and out of the opposition. Sirius and Marlene were unmerciful, taking out anyone and everyone (Sirius even hit their own Seeker, but James managed to help the poor fourth year stay upright on his broom). Frank was a skilled Keeper, letting in only five goals and the score stood at 50-320 by the time Ravenclaw’s Seeker finally caught the snitch. But it was a futile effort. That only put the ultimate tally as 200-320.

Hermione screamed with the rest of her house for their win, and she and Remus hastily escaped down the spindly stairs and onto the pitch. James ran over to her immediately, encasing her in a hug and spinning her around. She had to hold onto the back of his head for support and she laughed audaciously.

When he put her back down, he was grinning. “I thought you hadn’t come!”

Smiling too, Hermione bopped him on the nose and said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

James, still giddy with the exhilaration of winning, gave her one last giant hug. Once he’d let go, he faltered.

“James!” Lily exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “Well done! You were amazing! Absolutely amazing!”

His face was pink and he stumbled over his words. “Thanks. I, erm, thank you. I did try.”

She laughed and hugged him again, ignoring the fact that his arms were tight around her, and that she could rest her chin in the curvature of his shoulder perfectly. Lily cleared her throat, unhinging herself from him, instantly forgetting that in James’ arms, she felt wanted and needed and loved. Yes, she completely forgot about all of that.

Hermione’s eyes scanned the crowd of Gryffindors for one in particular and she smiled when she saw him, and began moving towards him. “Sirius!”

He hadn’t seen her, but he was coming this way. Her heart felt heavy and errant. His dark hair was plastered to his sweat-covered skin, and his cheeks were red from the whip of the wind.

“Congratulations!” She grinned when he got close enough, but Sirius just shoved straight past her, barging into her shoulder with enough force that she stumbled backwards into Remus.

Hermione swallowed, regaining her composure but she didn’t know what to do. Why did he act like that? What on earth could she have done for him to completely disregard her and treat her so lowly? Speaking of that, why had he been in a mood seemingly since the match had begun? She let her eyes wander and they snagged on the spiral of smoke billowing up into the air, just over the edge of the pitch.

“Are you coming?” Remus asked, and the smile he gave her was forced and small but Hermione didn’t comment on it. She hadn’t even realised the pitch was clearing as they all made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room for what was promised to be the nefarious after-party. His hand reached out for her. When he noticed her indecision and obvious hurt at what had just happened, he faltered slightly. His throat bobbed. “Listen, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. It’s Sirius. You know how he gets. One minute he’s happy, the next he wants to rip someone’s head off their shoulders and kick it around for fun… As he demonstrated not an hour ago. Honestly, Hermione, you shouldn’t look too much into it.”

Still, it didn’t seem like Remus was as unaffected as he acted. She didn’t know why- it wasn’t him that Sirius was ignoring. She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just need to make a quick detour.”

He looked unsure. It was then that Hermione realised she had been clutching his coat tightly around her. She exclaimed a surprised, “Oh. Here, your coat-” and began taking it off.

“Keep it,” he said. “I’ll meet you up there, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He offered her one last, brief smile, before Remus turned around and started walking back up to the castle. Hermione shrugged the coat back on and hugged herself, relishing in the warmth of it. She chewed at the skin of her lower lip.

Then, she spun around and headed in the opposite direction to everyone else. There was a sense of excitement bubbling up inside of her and she couldn’t contain her nerves.

She was going to say hello to an old friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS CHAPTER!
> 
> I had so much fun writing it and I'm so proud of it. There are so many important moments, which is why it's so long (nearly 5000 words- wow!!). I was originally going to split it into two separate chapters (purely for chapter count) but it worked better like this, and my word count is still the same anyway. Can you believe it? Over 110,000 words!!!!!! I'm in shock!
> 
> So this chapter, we saw the potential of a Mary/Peter relationship. He's just so lovely! He deserves so much love (and he needs it to avoid going down the path he did in the original timeline). 
> 
> ~~I'm saying 'so' a lot. I'm really sorry! It's late and I should be sleeping.~~
> 
> Also ALICE! God, I love her! I always thought Neville was one of those people who was quirky but compassionate and I really want to try and emulate that in his parents. We'll be seeing a LOT of her and Frank in this fic. 
> 
> And a very brief Jily moment. I'm surprised at how few of you have commented on the Jily moments throughout the whole story so far, as I think I've been a good girl and dropped a few in for you. (I think!)
> 
> Now, Remus/Hermione. I just want to say that whether you ship it or not, there is a chance (I say a chance) that this will be the end pairing. Of course, it could still be Sirius/Hermione. Or I noticed a couple of you are liking the prospect of Regulus/Hermione. Since I've yet to develop that- who even knows where that could end up??
> 
> The reason I speak so loosely is because honestly- I dont have a clue! It could go anywhere! I just let the story and characters write themselves. But, whether you ship it or not, there is no denying that Remus cares greatly for her and that she understands him and confronts him like no one else (as seen earlier in the fic as well). He was right with what he said last chapter too- he's bared more of his soul to her than to anyone else, even though they've only known each other a short time. 
> 
> I have a definite plan in the direction this story is going to take. The chapters are less structured (like I said, what happens happens when I'm writing) but the end is planned out. Some of you may love it. You'll probably hate it, knowing my luck. But there will most certainly be tears:) 
> 
> ***MAJOR FORESHADOWING IN THIS CHAPTER BY THE WAY, WHICH WILL NOT MAKE ANY SENSE UNTIL ONE OF THE VERY FINAL CHAPTERS, BUT I'M PUTTING THIS HERE SO YOU CAN COME BACK ONCE THIS FIC IS FINISHED AND REALISE HOW VERY CLEVER I AM AT DROPPING HINTS***
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I wouldn't be nearing 40 chapters and well over 100,000 words if it wasn't for your support and amazing ideas. I'm so sorry for making this author's note so long!! Oh my! I said I was going to stop them as well, so this is extremely unproductive. 
> 
> Well, to apologise for this unbelievably long author's note (which I will not blame you if you skip), and to tease you until next time, I thought I'd leave a small snippet of the next chapter:
> 
>  
> 
> oOoOoOo
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s no way to treat a lady,” Remus said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
> 
> “Yeah, well you’d know, wouldn’t you, Moony?” Sirius snarled, whipping the towel off of his shoulders.
> 
> Remus raised an eyebrow in cool interest. “Excuse me?”
> 
> “You heard me,” he snapped. “Your wolf hearing surely picked that up. I said you’d know, and it’s obvious you do. Tell me, how do you treat a lady, Remy? Give her my coat? Should I put my arms around her and tell her I’ll protect her from anything? Is that it?”
> 
> “What are you- oh.” It dawned on him then and the truth hurt him more than it rationally should. “You like Hermione.”
> 
>  
> 
> oOoOoOo
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and Happy New Year! I hope 2016 is the year for you:)


	35. Chapter 35- The Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: To the reviewer who said that my Hermione is useless, I appreciate your opinion but if you don't like, don't read.  
> At the end of the day, she has gone through a war, witnessed her friends die in her front of her, been wrenched from everything she knows into a past full of strangers, has had to adapt to something no one ever should have to adapt to, face a werewolf whilst she is recovering, struggle with the aftereffects of all this (PTSD). Really, I think that's quite remarkable. I wouldn't be able to do it, I'd have given up ages ago.  
> What's more, she's actually willing to fight some more (risking EVERYTHING) to change the future, for other people. She doesn't care about where she ends up in all this, as long as the future is saved. Personally, I think that's amazing.  
> Also, I have seen loads of people asking why she ran away from Remus (when he was a werewolf) and I guess I’ve never really explained it before, but Hermione watched the love of her life being killed by Fenrir Greyback. Not only that, but she knew Remus this time, loved him (as a friend), so she wouldn’t want to hurt him. To me, it seemed like the only way she could’ve reacted.

** Chapter 35- The Old Friend **

 

Hermione knocked on the door.

It didn't look any different, and she felt her heart leap happily at the sight of it. The roof was still thatched and uneven, and the brick walls were crumbling. Outside was the same pumpkin patch she had used to hide behind with Harry when they had first travelled back in time.

There was no sound of movement, and for a second, Hermione felt that sink of disappointment. But the chimney was smoking, and sure enough, a repetitive clunk of boots walking across a wooden floor reached her ears, getting closer and closer. She breathed in, as the lock slid back and the door was wrenched open.

And there he was.

Much like his hut, he hadn’t really changed. The only indication to his youth was the lack of wiry curls clinging to his chin. His beard was shorter and less raggedy, but still full. His hair hadn’t yet begun to grey, and it was wild and dark. And his eyes, well his eyes were shining and loving, just like they always had been.

“Hagrid,” Hermione whispered. He heard her, and shuffled uncomfortably.

“Do I know yeh?” He asked, an unsure tilt to his rough voice.

“Erm, no,” she said. “I’m new to the school, and I saw the smoke from your chimney so I decided to say hello.”

Behind her back, she flicked her wand and a plate of cupcakes appeared in her hands. She brought them out with a flourish and said, grinning, “I brought buns!”

Hagrid’s face melted into one of modest shock. He stepped back and allowed her to enter with a “Righ’, well yeh best come in then!”

 The sense of homeliness that encompassed her as she passed over the threshold was indescribable; she could boil it down to the simple fact that one minute she was stood outside in the cold, and the next she was enveloped in warmth and a reminiscence of belonging.

He directed her over to the table, where she placed the cupcakes down and took a seat, eyes scanning every inch of the place she had once visited every day. There were still oddities scattered on the shelves that lined the walls; eggs and talons, glass jars of things Hermione could only grimace at. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling, attached only to the beams by knots, and there was the huge fireplace, roaring happily behind her.

Suddenly, there was a dash of movement across the floor and the excitable scramble of paws and the dog was at her feet in a second, jumping up at her knee. He was tiny! Reaching only half-way up her leg when he stood. She had to bite back a squeal.

"Fang," she whispered, rubbing his dark wrinkled face. The puppy's tongue lolled out and he licked her fingers, covering her in drool.

"Eh, he likes you," Hagrid commented appraisingly.

Hermione smiled. "He's lovely."

Hagrid moved over to stand by the corner that was dedicated to being the kitchen. He asked, “Would yeh like some tea?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Please.”

Nodding to himself, he set about making some tea for them both, boiling the copper kettle that looked far shinier than she remembered it.

“So,” he said finally, sitting on the chair opposite her. “Yer a new student, eh?”

“Yeah, transfer.” She was still scratching Fang's head, and the pup had resigned to leaning against her legs as he enjoyed her ministrations.

“Ah, ah see. And ‘ow d’you like Hogwarts then? Trust those teachers are treating you righ’?” Hagrid winked at her, helping himself to one of the buns.

Hermione smiled and said, “I love it! It feels like home already.”

He looked at her then and there was something in his expression that seemed to crack and let the Hagrid she knew pour out. He said, “Aye, I know the feelin’. Came ‘ere meself, I did. Never felt like I really belonged anyplace else. Ol’ Dumbledore saw that an’ let me stay on as Groundskeeper.”

She raised her eyebrows as if she didn’t already know this and he nodded. “So I assume you’ve dealt with all sorts of magical creatures?” She asked, having to bite back a smile at the way his eyes lit up.

“Oh, aye,” he boomed, but his beard was twitching. “Y’know, I’ve got a herd of unicorns recently that I’ve ‘ad to look after. Pretty things, but weak. Can’t seem to fend for themselves if yeh know what I mean.” She grinned at him. “We’ve also got centaurs, but I don’t get too involved with them. They don’t like me much. Mind you, they don’ like anyone much…

“But I tell yer something…” He trailed off.

“Hermione,” she prompted.

“’Ermione,” Hagrid corrected, leaning closer. “I tell yer somethin’ ‘Ermione… I’ve always fancied meself a dragon!”

“A dragon?” Hermione exclaimed. This thrill from having met someone she knew so well like they were strangers was fascinating, and she smiled at the childlike eagerness in his voice. She could remember sneaking out with Harry, under the cloak, to smuggle Norbert out of Hogwarts.  _Ah, if only you knew,_  she thought.

“Aye,” Hagrid replied. “Dangerous things, but I can’ help but find ‘em cute. Charming, y’know. They’re just misunderstood creatures, s’all ‘Ermione. Terribly misunderstood.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’ve always thought Norwegian Ridgebacks were the nicest.”

His entire face morphed into one of surprise. “That’s my favourite! Did you know that Ridgebacks develop the abili’y to breathe fire before any other type o’ dragon? Aroun’ one t’ three months!”

He proceeded to tell her all about Ridgebacks, from their lifespan to interesting facts that she hadn't even read in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. She couldn’t contain her contentment at hearing him gush over something he loved. Happiness, when it came from Hagrid, emanated out of his body like sunbeams; through his eyes and smile and words. He was as passionate as they came, and she couldn’t believe how little he had changed.

“Why are yeh smilin’ at me like that?”

“No reason,” she said. “You just remind me of a very old friend.”

And although he tried not to show it, he was flustered at her reply, and he bashfully excused himself to put their empty mugs in his sink.

"So you came here then?" Hermione asked, helping herself to another bun. She'd already had two, and the sugar was starting to make her feel sick so she held it out for Fang to eat. He lapped it off her fingers, nibbling at her hand to make sure he'd gotten every last crumb.

"Yeh," he said. "Firs' place I'd ever felt accepted, y'know, with Dumbledore. O'course there were still some folk who didn' appreciate havin' a half-giant runnin' round the place, but Dumbledore made 'em do."

"Half giant?" Hermione repeated. "That's amazing!"

He blushed. "Well, ye'd be the firs' to think so, Ermione. Me mum was a giant, me dad was a wizard... 'e died when I was twelve. Tha's when Dumbledore took me under his wing. Good man, Dumbledore. Best man I know."

"What about your brother?"

"Grawp? Oh, God knows where he went. Me mum took him with her. He was a full gian' you see. She weren't ashamed of him," Hagrid said and there was a sort of sadness present in his voice, like he was trying to maintain it, trying to not let it show.

She swallowed and said, "Hagrid, your mother was a fool if she couldn't see how wonderful you are."

He stared at her, and she wasn't sure whether it was just the light or whether his eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Hagrid opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come, so in the end, he just closed it again and nodded.

Getting to her feet, Hermione slid her arms back into Remus’ coat, which she had taken off at some point due to the heat of the fire. Fang whined at her movement and she patted him. He melted into her once more. “Well, thank you Hagrid, but I think I’d better be off! We’ve just won a match so my friends will no doubt be wondering where I am!”

“Ah, shame yeh have to go so soon,” he replied, and it sounded like he meant it, but he was smiling at her now. “Come back fer a visit, won’ yeh?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, as if this was the most obvious thing to do. 

He showed her to the door, leaning against the side of his house to bid her farewell. One of his legs acted as a barricade as Fang tried to follow her.

“You know, Hagrid,” she said thoughtfully, pausing. She tugged Remus’ coat tighter around her body. “I’ve always liked the name Norbert for a dragon. There’s something about it that just feels right.”

And with one last soft smile, she began to walk up to the castle.

“Norbert,” he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. “Norbert.”

It never even hit him that the kind-hearted girl, who had brought him cupcakes and chatted with him about things he hadn’t ever told anyone else, had known his name, and had spoken so freely to him about things he was sure nobody else in the whole wide world knew.

Except Dumbledore.

But he knew everything. 

**oOoOoOo**

“Sirius,” Remus called, following his friend, who seemed adamant on storming through every possible corridor of the castle. He didn’t slow down, or even stop at the sound of his name, merely acted as though he hadn’t heard and carried on. “Sirius!”

He sighed. It was obvious he wasn’t in the best mood, but that was all the more reason to confront him now, rather than later. Then, at least, he’d lash out at Remus and not some poor first year. He proceeded to rush after him.

Eventually, after chasing him up a flight of stairs and almost losing him in the labyrinthine passageways, Remus rounded a corner, panting, and was relieved to see Sirius had stopped. He came to a halt too, catching his breath.

Sirius was stood at the end of the corridor they were in, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was sticking to his forehead, plastered there from sweat and he was fuming, anger practically emanating from him.

“That was no way to treat a lady,” Remus said, once he had composed himself and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Yeah, well  _you’d_  know, wouldn’t you, Moony?” Sirius snarled, whipping the towel off of his shoulders. He didn’t look at him.

Remus raised an eyebrow in cool interest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he snapped, finally dragging his eyes to him. “Your wolf hearing surely picked that up. I said  _you’d_  know, and it’s obvious you do. Tell me, how  _do_  you treat a lady, Remy? Give her my coat? Should I put my arms around her and tell her I’ll protect her from anything? Is that it?”

Sirius’ voice was sickly sweet and sarcasm dripped from it, but it bordered on harshness. He had a gift of being as cold and hard as flint when he wanted to be; now was no exception. He was shaking.

“What are you- _oh_.” It dawned on him then and the truth hurt him more than it rationally should. “You like Hermione.”

Sirius whirled on him, eyes burning and incredulous. He stared at Remus as if the other boy was being stupid, as if he was purposely ignoring what was there in front of him. He stressed, “I _like_ -”

But he broke off, an indignant noise, half-way between a sob and a laugh, catching in his throat. Sirius looked away. His voice was strained with hurt and anger when he said, “I’m not just a backup plan. I’m a _fucking_ human being and yet nobody wants me. I’m nobody’s first choice!”

He kicked the wall, frustration fuelling him. Remus didn’t know what to say. His throat felt painfully tight and his entire body was heavy. He needed to say something.

“Uh-” He wanted to cringe. Forcing his tongue to work, he said lamely, “How come? Why do you like Hermione?”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his damp hair and proceeding to pace. Remus stood there awkwardly. Eventually, he faltered, “I just want to be seen as someone special. I want someone to see me as something _other_ than the disowned heir of the Black family. I want someone to see me like- like you do, like I’m more than all that.”

Remus didn’t miss a beat. “You are more than all that.”

Sirius looked away, and his shoulders were slumped and defeated. Jealously was bitter and sharp-sounding on his tongue. “But you clearly like each other.”

Remus couldn’t deny the vindictive flash of pleasure that shot through him. His heart leapt, and then he saw Sirius’ distraught expression, all dark and self-loathing, like his world was shattering, and his heart plummeted back down to the confines of his chest.

He thought of Hermione. Her laugh ricocheted around his brain. He shook his head, ridding himself of the sound- it was distracting. It was also not the _only_ thing that made him ludicrously happy. Sirius made him happy too.

“It’s not like that,” Remus said, and the lie scorched his tongue. He wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them for they tasted like poison in the air. But Sirius’ face morphed into one of anticipation, and he couldn’t find it in himself to deprive his friend of the one thing that would him happy. “We’re just friends. Nothing more.”

Sirius stepped forward, and the eagerness was paralleled with the excitement in his dark eyes. “You’re positive?” He asked, searching Remus’ face for any indecision. But Remus was a werewolf; he was used to hiding his true colours. “So that means… What? What do I do now?”

Swallowing, Remus forced a smile and said, “You go back to the Common Room, you find her and you ask her to the ball. Okay?”

“Oh,” Sirius said, and there was a tautness in the rigid set of his shoulders. Remus wondered whether he had not planned this far ahead because he hadn’t expected this answer. He still seemed wound up, lost, so Remus pulled him into a hug. He melted immediately, calming because Remus always seemed to know what to say or do to bring him back round. A grin broke out across his face (Remus felt it on his neck) and Sirius murmured, “Thanks Moony.”

Remus draped his arms across his back, staring at a spot on the floor. He tried to ignore the way that everything hurt because he had just signed away the two people he had bared his life to- he had given both Sirius and Hermione so much of himself that he knew he wasn’t entirely whole anymore. They had both witnessed his insomnia, and seen the beauty that derived from it; they’d come face-to-face with his demons, and somehow remained by his side. They were worth so much more than a tortured soul searching for redemption, and he couldn’t give either of them that. At least Hermione had Sirius- she deserved him.

She didn’t deserve a monster. She deserved a prince. 


	36. Chapter 36- The Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I had planned this to be more of a party chapter, but then more important things needed to be written (like Regulus and Sirius x Hermione) so I kind of archived it (sorry!). There will be another opportunity for drunk Marauders and plus, the ball is coming up so it did seem unnecessary to have two partying chapters close together.  
> Hope this is okay anyway!  
> **Update: If you read this before, I've changed Halloween to Christmas ball, as it makes it easier for the direction of the story!**

 

Hermione walked quickly. It wasn't late yet, but outside, the sky was growing dark and the castle halls were empty. She'd already missed the beginning of the party, she didn't want to prolong her absence any longer.

There was a jolt in her chest when she thought of Sirius. Why had he been annoyed? Why had he seemingly been annoyed at her? Hermione chewed her lip as she walked, still hugging Remus' coat around her. She couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong. Huffing, she realised he was just like Ron; all explosions and passion, without telling anyone why he was about to blow up.

She was so absorbed in her worries that she didn't notice the figure coming towards her until she was barrelling into him. Hermione almost fell backwards, had the hands not reached out and grabbed her.

Steadying herself, she looked up and saw the person she had walked into. "Regulus," she exclaimed.

Regulus didn't seem pleased to see her. On the contrary, he appeared rather embarrassed, and his eyes adamantly avoided her. His hands fell to his side.

He swallowed.

"Our last conversation was cut a little short, wasn't it?" She said dryly, remembering his outburst.

Regulus still didn't look at her. Hermione was staring at the floor, playing with the hem of her sleeves. Then, she remembered the cloak hidden in her chest back at the dormitory.

“I still have your cloak,” she said. He forced himself to keep his eyes away from her.

He muttered, “Keep it.”

She let out a sound of indignation and her eyebrows furrowed together. Hermione said crossly, “Don’t be absurd!”

“I have plenty more. And if I happen to lend those to freezing females, then my family will be more than accommodating in supplying me with new ones,” Regulus said in a fast and low voice.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “You’re just determined to be difficult. I’ll give you it back.”

He nodded silently. As Hermione stared at him, she traced every curvature and shadow of his dark face. Like his brother, he had long eyelashes, and grey eyes, although his were much lighter than Sirius’. His face was thin and sculptured and his hair fell to his chin. He looked so much like Sirius that it hurt her chest.

And then she realised the origin for the contempt on his young face and the cautiousness in his eyes when he regarded her. Harry had told her about Sirius’ childhood, how despite his rebellion, he was still his parents’ favourite. In school, Sirius was the one that accumulated buzz, who attracted everyone. He was the star of the Quidditch pitch, with the highest grades and the most admirers. After everything Regulus had done to secure his life, he had always been in the shadows. They were both angels, and yet Sirius was God’s favourite. It seemed only natural for Regulus to descend into the darkness the way he did; like Michael and Lucifer.

Everyone forgot that Regulus existed outside of his brother. She supposed he was used to it by now.

"What's your favourite book?" Hermione asked gently.

His eyes finally shot to her. He asked, "What?"

"What's your favourite book?"

Regulus swallowed. “Why?”

“Well,” Hermione honestly didn’t know how to explain this, so she decided to be as candid as she could. She owed him that, at least. “I realised last time all we really talked about was Sirius, as if that was the most important aspect of you. But it's not and it was wrong of me to assume that so I want to start over. Get to know you as Regulus, not Sirius' little brother. So what's your favourite book?"

Regulus licked his lips, eyes darting behind him and he said, "I really don't have time, erm, I've got to go."

He pushed passed her and carried on walking, head down.

She closed her eyes in exasperation and when she opened them, she called, “I was only asking you you're favourite book.”

He didn’t even turn around. “Well, I don't have one,” he replied.

Hermione snapped. She started after him, gesturing wildly and shouted, "Why are you making this so difficult? I'm trying to help you!"

"No!" Regulus finally stopped, and spun around to face her. He was resigned when he said, "You're trying to help Sirius."

All she could do was stare at him, at the boy who must've endured so much for love and security, and lost the only thing in his small world.

"Is there a problem here?"

Regulus' eyes flicked behind her and he was quick to say, "No, Avery. We were just talking."

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. She turned to confront him. "What are you doing here?"

Avery raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

She cocked her head and asked again, "What are you doing here?"

A slight frown pulled his eyebrows together and he regarded her with cool eyes. “You act as if we parted ways on a sour note.”

Hermione folded her arms, but didn’t comment. Avery continued to stare at her, as he said, “Run along, Black.”

She was sure Regulus didn’t even hesitate in doing what he was told, and felt annoyance run through her at this interruption, despite the fact that the interruption came in the form of a tall, dark and handsome smooth-talking Slytherin.

“Why aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I was having a conversation,” Hermione said.

“Really?” Avery asked, tone light. “That’s odd. He seemed to be far too eager in getting away. Or is that how everyone reacts when you talk to them?”

“I really don’t need your rude comments at this precise moment in time,” she dismissed, scowling at him. He didn’t seem to care.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, and his cold voice was characteristically polite.

“What are _you_ doing roaming the halls?” Hermione asked, changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be sulking in your Common Room with the rest of the snakes?”

Avery cocked his head. “However did you guess? I was on my way to do exactly that.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. He cracked his jaw.

“Shouldn’t you be in your Common Room getting drunk and throwing darts at pictures of my face?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hermione replied facetiously. “It’s a picture of Malfoy.”

A wry smirk curled his lips, and she glanced over to see whether Regulus was still there. The corridor was empty. She couldn’t deny the sinking disappointment at his absence. Hermione doubted she would get another opportunity to speak to him, and she _needed_ to speak to him if she even had a chance at saving him.

There was silence. She looked at him, and found him staring at her.

“Why are you trying to help him?” Avery asked quietly.

Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and a numb shock resonated through her entire body. She felt her lips moving on their own accord as she mumbled, "He doesn't deserve to fall."

Avery froze, and she didn't want to see his reaction, so Hermione murmured a half-hearted excuse, skirting past him. He turned around and called her name, but she couldn't look back.

 

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

 

 

Hermione stepped through the common room, pulling Remus' coat off her body as the warmth enveloped her.

The party was well underway, and music was blaring (from what, she had no idea) and people were everywhere, dancing and laughing and jumping. The sofas and chairs were all occupied and she spotted some students from different houses. Someone had snuck in firewhiskey (she assumed it was James), and so there was a thrilling electricity in the air.

Frowning, she stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck back to see if she could find any of her friends. She thought she spotted Marlene’s golden curls in the corner, but she couldn’t be sure, for the girl was in a particularly violent match of tonsil tennis with a Ravenclaw. Her eyes flicked around, and landed on Lily, who was dancing and laughing with James. She felt her lips pull into a small smile watching them.

"Hermione!"

She turned and saw Sirius weaving his way towards her. Her heart jumped and she moved to meet him.

"Sirius!"

They stopped in front of each other. Hermione monitored his face for any sign of frustration (more importantly, any sign of frustration directed at her), but she found none. In fact, he was smiling at her. His cheeks were pink with the delectable sensation of tipsiness, and his eyes were sparkling.

"Hermione," he said again, gently, as if he couldn't quite believe she was there.

"Sirius," she mimicked, smiling unsurely at him. Then, she added, “About today, I-”

"Can I talk to you?" Sirius interrupted, and there was a slight warble of insecurity in his voice.

"That's what I thought you were doing," she replied, grinning and trying to hide her relief at the change of topic.

"No," he had to shout to be heard over the whoops as a laughing Frank Longbottom was suddenly hoisted into the air. "Alone."

Hermione felt her eyebrows pull together in puzzlement, and she nodded, letting him take her hand and direct her outside.

As soon as the portrait hole closed, a serenity engulfed them, and it was almost as if there was no audacious party booming from behind the walls. Hermione strongly suspected silencing charms.

“What’s wrong?” She asked immediately, unnerved by his behaviour. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sirius soothed. He was still holding her hands between his. Swallowing, he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again as the words fell short.

“What?” Hermione prompted in a soft voice.

He let his eyes rake over every detail of her face, and there was something in them that stole her breath. With Sirius, he always seemed to breathe passion. Every glance and smile had her feelings magnified, and when he exposed the truest part of himself, she felt like the luckiest person in the world to witness it.

Sirius stared at her, feeling the heat of her hands in his. His heart was thumping erratically, uncontrollably, and he vaguely wondered whether she could hear it. He hoped she couldn’t. His palms were sweating; he was fairly sure he had never felt this way about a girl before (not that there had been many, anyway, despite the rumours circulating his love life). But with Hermione, it was different.

She ignited the part of him that he thought had been irrevocably doused when his Mother had first told him he was no son of hers, when the most important person in his world burned because of their friendship; she made him want to be someone better, made him feel like it was a possibility, like he wasn’t destined to slip away to the darkness after all.  

“Sirius, what is it?”

“You make me feel like someone else,” he said and his lips barely moved, as if he thought they might shatter everything.

"That's not a good thing, Sirius," Hermione said, although she was smiling. "You should want to be with someone who makes you feel like yourself."

He shook his head, adjusting his grip on her hands and said, "But you make me want to be better."

"You're good enough," she stressed softly, earnestly, because it was true.

Sirius’ breath shook in his lungs as he inhaled. Hermione licked her dry lips and stepped closer, detangling their hands to cup his face. She murmured, “I told you, remember? You’re good enough.”

He looked at her _, in her_ , searching for any flicker of a lie. He found none. Sirius said, “Will you go to the Christmas Ball with me?”

Momentarily speechless, Hermione stared at him. Why had he acted so irritated with her and then asked her to the ball? She wondered about him sometimes; he blew hot and cold without any warning. Nevertheless, her cheeks went hot and she smiled at him, “I’d be honoured to.”

Sirius’ mouth opened and he stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “What?”

“Yes!” Hermione laughed, pushing at his shoulder. His beautiful face morphed into a huge grin, and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and dancing her about. She laughed, and the sound resonated down the emptiness of the corridor. His chin rested on her shoulder, and she leaned her head against his.

The portrait hole swung open abruptly and Peter tripped out. He stumbled to a halt when he saw them. They stopped spinning but didn’t really let go completely of each other.

He blinked.

“Pete!” Sirius announced, opening his arms wide and striding towards his friend, engulfing him in a hug. He said, “You positively reek, my little friend!”

Peter shoved Sirius off of him, sucked his lips in and, after a while, said, “What are you doing out here?”

His words were slurred.

“Too loud in there,” Sirius replied, nodding his head in the direction of the Common Room.

Peter nodded lopsidedly, and his eyes were hooded, giving away just how intoxicated he was.

“Why are you out here?” Hermione asked.

He raised his eyebrows and blinked rapidly at her. “Mary went to go get some more drinks and I thought I was going to throw up so I came out here.”

She smiled, shaking her head at him.

“Have you asked her yet?” Sirius asked nonchalantly, going to throw an arm around Peter, who promptly dodged him. He was still grinning.

“No,” Pete said awkwardly, shooting him a pointed look.

“Ask who?” Hermione questioned, interested, and she moved closer to him.

He looked at her in alarm and shook his head. “No one.”

But his blush gave him away.

She instead glanced at Sirius and said, “Mary?”

“Mary,” he confirmed.

Peter covered his face with his hands and let out a long groan, that warbled and whined, and the alcohol was pungent in the air. She wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t see why you haven’t asked her yet,” Sirius said.

Peter directed a particularly rude hand gesture at him. Hermione rolled her eyes at the pair of them, and said gently, “Just do it. She’d be crazy not to see how amazing you are, Peter.”

He stared at her, as if weighing up how serious she was, before he nodded. “Okay,” Peter cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll ask her.”

The determination swelled inside of him and he inhaled deeply, puffing his chest out, but didn’t move. Sirius and Hermione shared a look.

“Erm, now,” she added.

Sirius commented, “Preferably before the alcoholic-induced gutsiness tampers off.”

“Oh,” Pete said, and his next words all mashed together. “I haven’t been drinking. I’ve just had Butterbeer.”

Hermione shot Sirius an incredulous look.

“Wormtail, are you forgetting something?” Peter stared at him blankly. Sirius sighed and said in impatience, “Go!”

Sure enough, Peter jumped into action, nodding again and spun on his heel to stumble back through the portrait hole.

The painting swung shut behind him.

“Just Butterbeer, my arse,” Hermione muttered, although she couldn’t help but be slightly amused by his antics.

She redirected her attention to Sirius as they were absorbed in quiet solace once more. He was staring at her with a sort of wonder present in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go socialise.”

Hermione pulled a face, groaning, “ _Oh_ , I don’t like to do that. I’d much rather go and read someplace solitary,” but she took his hand regardless.

Sirius looked at her in puzzlement, shaking his head. “You’re by far the uncoolest person I’ve ever been seen with, and I’ve known Remus for seven years.”

She frowned. “Uncoolest isn’t even a word.”

He sighed, but he was grinning still, as he said, “Your ability to indirectly prove _just how lame you are_ amazes me.”

Hermione just stuck her tongue out at him, as he laughed and they stepped back into the Common Room.

 

**oOoOoOo**

Much later on, when the party had simmered down, and the very last person drifted from the Common Room, the four boys retired to their usual place in front of the fire. Hermione had gone to bed pretty early, around 1 or 2am, along with Lily and Mary. They had all danced and sung and drank (although not as much as the boys, and definitely not anywhere near as much as Remus- then again, nobody ever drank as much as Remus) until fatigue had caught hold of them, and they’d regretfully parted way, leaving the boys to their own devices.

All of their heads were banging, and they felt their eyelids straining to stay open. Out of them all, only Sirius was still drinking, and he took occasional swigs from his bottle of firewhiskey as the others tried to sober up. James wasn’t even that drunk, and he was currently trying to finish some homework, as sleep was evading him. Peter looked like the best thing he could do was pass out, if the sickly pallor of his face was anything to go by, but his euphoria was fuelling him.

Remus slumped deeper into the armchair, and his scraggy maroon jumper meant that he looked to blend into it. He was faded and sluggish as he said, "Say, James- who're you going with to the Halloween Ball?"

James looked up from his homework and his eyebrows furrowed deeply. "I don't know." He scratched his chin. "I guess no-one... I mean, seeing as Lily's already got a date."

He sounded resigned with this information, but it still saddened him. The thought of Lily with anyone else was unbearable to James.

“Who?”

“That bloke Marlene was on about.”

“ _Perkins?_ ” Sirius moaned. “Bloody Puff.”

Peter pulled a face and questioned, "Well, why can't you just go with another girl?" They all stared at him. He narrowed his eyes and then nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, I just heard it too. I think I’m really drunk."

The thought of James with anyone else was strange to the rest of them as well; it was downright ridiculous to even entertain the idea.

Sirius shot up in his seat and said excitedly, "I guess you could say then that he's going... _Stag!_ "

James shot him a look and pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes, mumbling, “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

Peter grinned, and reached over to high-five him. James said, “No. No, that doesn’t deserve a high-five. It deserves a slap in the face.”

Remus shook his head, interlocking his long fingers. He cracked the bones and Sirius' face dropped immediately. "Please will you stop doing that?!"

Remus stopped. He turned to James abruptly and said, "At least you still get to dance with her. As Heads, you've got to open the dance, right?"

James seemed to perk up a little at that, but his expression soured at the realisation that he'd have to dance... In front of people.

"Oh yeah, cause I'm sure one dance with the love of his life will suffice," Sirius said sarcastically.

Remus stared at him and said, "Did you ask her?"

Sirius looked away, suddenly shy and the topic of the conversation swerved. He said, "Erm, yeah. I did."

Remus just nodded.

"Ask who?" James questioned curiously. His look was accusing and offended. "You fancy someone and you didn't immediately tell me who?!"

Sirius raised his eyes to his best friend and a small, awkward smile graced his face.

"This is preposterous! I can't even believe you! Who on earth would-"

"Hermione," Sirius interrupted and for the first time ever, he sounded bashful when talking about a girl. James hesitated.

"Oh," he said, and the surprise was evident in his voice. He must've noticed the slight unsure tilt to Sirius' voice for he added softly, "That's nice."

"Yeah."

"Well, I ship it," Peter said, stretching out across the settee. He had a clumsy smile on his face.

The other three all exchanged a glance.

"What?" Sirius asked after a few seconds silence.

But Peter didn't reply, just burst out laughing at the bewilderment on his friends' faces, a giggle exploding around the room. He was so enraptured in his amusement, and seemed to find himself _that_ funny, that he actually rolled off the sofa and onto the floor with a loud bang, where he just laid, giggling.

“Merlin Almighty,” James commented in horror, as they watched their smallest friend go slowly mad. “That is the last time I _ever_ spike Peter’s drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could fast-track this fic and just write the last few chapters because I've been planning them out for ages (and I have a plan, which NOBODY can change my mind about, no matter how much you beg!). It will make you cry. If you like this fic (God knows why, but thank you!) and you like these characters, then you will probably feel inclined to murder me, but love me at the same time?  
> I'm literally not giving away anything here ahah!!
> 
>  
> 
> So what did you think of this then??  
> Just a quick question (to those of you who do read these rambling little notes), what's been your favourite part so far? We're nearing Chapter 40 (WHICH I CANNOT BELIEVE!) and I'm curious. If there's a certain part that loads of people like, then I'll have to try and include it more (maybe Wolfstar interaction or the banter between the five of them).  
> Thank you for reading! Please, please review! Hope today goes well for you:)


	37. Chapter 37- The Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE MY GIRLS SO MUCH<3

The next day, Dumbledore had announced that, due to the ball the following weekend, students would be allowed out to Hogsmeade to buy dresses and dress robes and whatever else they may need.

Hermione had parted with her boys as Lily dragged her away, claiming that, "This was a girls' day," and "Not even Remus, the most understanding person on the planet, would be able to understand makeup."

Although she wouldn't admit it, Hermione was quite relieved by this. Sirius still seemed shy, and couldn't bring himself to look directly at her (although why, she had no idea). Peter just kept grinning suggestively and waggling his eyebrows at her every time she looked at him, and she felt like she didn't know Lily well enough.

And so, that saw Lily, Hermione, Mary and Marlene, all wrapped up warm in scarfs and hats, gloves and woolly coats, traipsing down the winding, snow-covered path to Hogsmeade.

"Is that Dorcas?" Mary asked, but it was muffled as her scarf was wrapped tightly around the bottom of her face, hiding her mouth and nose.

"Where?" Marlene demanded, head whipping round to locate her friend. Sure enough, a tall girl with brown hair and brown eyes stood at the very bottom of the path, by the village sign. She was wearing a pastel blue coat, and had pink cheeks from the frosty wind that kept oscillating in it's ferocity.

Hermione recognised her. It was the same girl who had faced the boggart in her defence lesson, and the one she always saw hanging with Marlene.

“Oi!” Marls shouted, and because she was loud, it didn’t matter that Dorcas was about 200 metres away; she heard anyway.

Dorcas turned around, and her face lit up, morphing into a grin. Her skin was quite tan, and Hermione would guess her family probably originated from Spain, or somewhere equally as exotic. She looked deceptively quiet, but she was best friends with Marlene (who was, in the simplest way of explaining, a female version of Sirius), so she couldn’t be that quiet. If you were quiet around Marlene, she’d probably end up forgetting you.

They all sped up to accommodate for Marlene's impatience.

“I thought you weren’t coming today?” Marlene questioned when they got close enough. She tugged on Dorcas’ scarf, unravelling it from her neck.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, frowning and sorting out her scarf.

“So why are you here?”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “Because I changed my mind. Is that a crime?”

Marlene pulled a righteous face at her tone, and said, “Yes. You didn’t tell me. Careful, I’ll start to think you don’t like me anymore.”

“That wouldn’t be hard. You’re quite clingy. It’s wearisome.”

The two girls stared at each other, before they both began to smile, and Marlene leapt forward, hooking her arm through Dorcas’ and snuggling into her side.

“Oh, Hermione,” she announced, suddenly remembering they hadn’t actually met. “This is Dorcas. Dorky, this is Mione.”

“Hi,” Dorcas smiled.

“It’s lovely to meet you!” Hermione replied. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Hopefully good things.”

“It’s Marlene,” she said, deadpanned, as if this was answer enough. It was, if they were being honest; Marlene never seemed to have anything nice to say about anyone, regardless of whether or not she actually liked them.

Dorcas snorted. “Good point.” She flicked her cat-like eyes to Lily and said silkily, “So, what’s this about you and Bernie? I saw him when I went to see Em. He was very excitable after that party which I wasn't invited to."

At this, she punctuated her ire by glaring at Marlene, who simply shrugged and said, "You're the one on the wrong team."

“Oh.” Lily’s face dropped. Hermione felt her eyebrows pull together. She was walking next to her, and they were so close so as to share the other’s body heat, that she could feel the waves of awkwardness radiating off of the redhead. Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to the ball together.”

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic,” Marlene said dryly. “You might put him off. It's wearisome.”

Mary snorted. Dorcas smirked.

"You don't like him?" Hermione questioned, and she tried to tamper down the hopeful excitement in her voice.

Lily hesitated. "I do," she said slowly. "It's just-" Sighing, she pulled a face. "He's not very fun."

Marlene exchanged a look with Dorcas, who shook her head disapprovingly.

"What?" Lily demanded.

"Bernie is safe," Dorcas said, as if this explained everything.

"Safe?"

Mary rolled her eyes and started counting the reasons for this statement off on her fingers. "He's rich, smart, in good standing at the Ministry, loyal by default, good Quidditch player, reasonably good looking, rich, smart, rich."

"Oh, and did she mention he was rich?" Marlene added sarcastically, shooting Hermione a wink, who laughed.

Mary frowned, but nevertheless, spread out her arms and said, "Safe."

Lily's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"You sound like my mother," she said.

When no one else spoke, Hermione took the opportunity to ask nonchalantly, "What about James?"

Lily faltered. In a guarded voice, she asked, "What about him?"

Hermione shrugged.

"He's practically in love with you," was all she said. She had been best friends with two boys her entire life; it would be a crime to admit she wasn't a reasonably good wing-woman. "I'm just saying, he's no safety net to fall back on, but he's something."

Lily's eyes lowered to the floor, and the five of them continued walking. Hermione was certain that Lily and James were meant to be together, and she would ensure that inevitability against every odd. If all else failed, she would secure Harry's survival. She'd protect him. She owed it to him.

"Plus, he's rich," Hermione offered, a grin threatening to stretch her lips. Marlene sniggered.

"What about you?" Lily retorted, her prominent blush fading as the attention shifted. "A little birdie told me you've got a date as well?"

Hermione swallowed. "This little birdie wouldn't happen to be rich, bespectacled and practically in love with you?" She teased. "Would it?"

Lily's cheeks flushed even darker, and she stuck her tongue out in reply. Hermione laughed, resting her forehead on Lily's shoulder but the redhead shoved her off.

They'd passed into Hogsmeade now, and the little row of quirky shops rose on either side. Each chimney was smoking merrily, and despite the abundance of shoppers, the snow on the ground was still relatively untouched. The coldness in the air, whilst it nibbled at their exposed skin, was overwhelmed by the warmth that the familiarity of the little village provided.

Marlene swooped on Hermione, dragging Dorcas around with her. "What's this?"

Hermione shot a mock-glare at Lily, who smiled sweetly. "What's what?"

"A date? Who's your date?"

"Erm," she felt her teeth start chattering, and the hesitation was more of a white globe, still and freezing in the air before her. "I promise I'll tell you if we go inside. I think my teeth are going to break because they're chattering so much."

It was true. The force with which they were colliding was violent, and Hermione winced at the fits her parents would throw. They hated it when she damaged her teeth, intentional or not.

Marlene grudgingly agreed, and they sought refuge in The Three Broomsticks. Mary made a bee-line for an empty booth in the corner, near one of the many roaring fireplaces, and the others trailed after her, removing various layers of clothing and accessories at each step.

"Who?" Marlene ordered as soon as they had collapsed onto the cushioning.

"Erm, Sirius," Hermione replied slowly.

The reaction was instantaneous. Marlene's eyes bugged out of their sockets. Dorcas raised an eyebrow. Mary gaped. Lily bit back a smile.

"Sirius?" Marlene repeated dubiously. "As in colossal twat of the the universe? As in Black? Sirius Black?"

"I always thought he was gay," Dorcas commented to no one in particular. They all looked at her.

"Yeah," Hermione said. "He asked my last night, but I think we're just friends," she added hastily.

"You think?" Mary pressed.

"Just friends?" Dorcas repeated, smirking.

Amused, Marlene snorted and said, "Please, there's no such thing as 'just friends' with Sirius."

Hermione felt her throat go dry at the way she said it, and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, he either hates you or he loves you."

She frowned. Lily quickly interjected, sensing Hermione's uncertainty, "Not like that. Like with James. He loves him; they're not friends, they're brothers, you know? If Sirius likes you, then he really likes you."

"Well, he doesn't like our Mione," Marls said matter-of-factly, and their eyes all shot to her. Her eyebrows danced and she leaned across the table, purring, "He lurrrvesss her."

And at first, they all simply stared. But then Mary started snickering, and her amusement caused a huge smile to steal across Lily's face. Dorcas cautiously regarded her friend, and Hermione was the one to break the silence by bursting out laughing.

That set them all off, apart from Marlene, who just blinked at them.

Shaking her head, she declared dramatically, "You're all lunatics! My friends are lunatics!"

A few of the other patrons, students and locals alike, glanced over in their direction and they just laughed harder. This was how it was supposed to be, Hermione thought, this was the way life was supposed to be lived; laughing yourself into oblivion so that anything else in comparison seemed so insignificant that you could afford to throw it all away.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Later, Hermione found herself alone in the dress shop, trying on a ridiculously baggy dress that was within her budget. They had all separated. Mary and Lily had gone to look at accessories for their outfits, which they had had the foresight to buy on the last trip, and Marlene had dragged Dorcas off to have a smoke. Apparently, she had adopted the dirty habit after visiting Lily last summer. Hermione, having no dress in the first place, decided to split from both of them and go costume-hunting by herself. She didn't mind the solitary, in fact, she welcomed it. They'd all agreed to meet back at the pub in an hour and a half.

That was how she found herself in a purple gown, far too showy for her taste. The sleeves were long and had little white swirls on. She stood in front of the mirror, hand clutching the plunging neckline to her chest to keep it up.

The bell rang as the door opened, and a rush of chilling air escaped up her skirt. She pulled a face, turning around and half-expecting it to be Lily.

It wasn't.

Frédéric Avery stood before her.

They stared at each other for a long time and Hermione felt her cheeks slowly going red.

"That looks lovely on you," Avery said.

"Thanks," she replied unsurely. He didn't really react so she watched him, knowing she must look cautious. Her face was tight. Her eyes guarded.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "To say that you don't know me, you sure are looking at me with some contempt," Avery said, and although his voice was, as usual, devoid of emotion, he seemed rather uncomfortable with the fact.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. There was something about him that nagged incessantly at her. The way he spoke, the words he said, the way he moved and achieved getting on her very last nerve all the time. She wondered whether all Slytherins were like this, or whether it was just the ones she knew. She swallowed, tying not to think of his blonde hair and snarky composure, and said, "You just remind me of someone."

He raised an eyebrow. "Was he annoyingly charming?"

"You got the annoying part right."

Rolling his eyes, Avery moved to sit on a buffet nearby. He even moved with a cat-like elegance, despite his tall stature.

"You're not too charming yourself, you know," he said.

Hermione replied, "And yet you keep coming back."

Avery quirked an eyebrow at her. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he said, "Curiosity."

"Killed the cat," she finished pointedly.

"I'm no cat."

Hermione interjected, "No, you're a snake."

"Ouch."

Silence settled between them once more and they simply stared at each other. He perched on the edge, teetering on sitting and standing. His eyes roved the little costume shop and hers followed. It wasn't the most illustrious place, but it was clear the woman in charge catered to all budgets as, to oppose the tacky, cheap outfits, she also had some rather grand ones. Hermione pointedly tried to avoid these, lest she find one she actually liked.

"Congratulations on your win yesterday," Avery said, getting to his feet as his eyes snagged on something of interest. He moved further into the shop, and perused through the outfits on the shelves. Hermione doubted he'd buy anything from here. He was a notorious Pureblood, a Slytherin; his dress robes had probably been hand stitched with gold. "I didn't have chance to tell you."

"Thank you."

"Your pets are on the team," Avery said, flicking his eyes up to her. "Aren't they?"

She spluttered, hands immediately on her hips, "Pets?!"

A wry smirk curled his lips. "Yes, Potter and that lot. They do seem to trail after you. Or you trail after them? I forget which."

Hermione marched over to him. He was extremely tall, and she didn't even reach the middle of his chest. "That is called friendship. And not mindless following which you're probably more than associated with, what with the allegiances of your family tree."

She dropped her voice to a hiss at this point and Avery swallowed, staring her straight in the eye.

He leaned his head closer to her and whispered, "Oh darling, your Slytherin colours are showing." His eyes glanced down. An eyebrow quirked. His eyes darted away just as quickly. "As well as a few other assets."

Understanding instantly what he was getting at, she smacked his arm and stormed away. He watched her go, almost amused by her antics. She really was like a small child.

The screeching of metal on metal was heard as Hermione retreated to the dressing room, pulling the curtain along for privacy. She pulled her arms out of the dress, muttering as she did, and from there, the material just dropped off her body. It was too big.

A hand appeared through the side of the curtain, holding something, and her eyes widened. She pushed it back out, and her head followed, clutching the curtain to her body.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Hermione cried.

Avery was stood there, appearing bored with her outrage.

"You can't just do that! I'm... indecent!" She fumed.

He raised his eyebrows (it seemed the only emotive gesture he was capable of) and wiggled whatever he was holding for emphasis. She looked at it.

The dress was a long one, trailing across the floor, despite the fact he had it folded over his forearm. The colour was one of a shimmering gold, with darker golden jewels that glinted in the white light from outside. The sleeves looked to be three-quarter, and there was a little lace decorative pattern that snaked around the arm and down the bodice. It was beautiful. And far above her price range.

"I thought it would hide your Slytherin side."

Hermione let her fingers trace over the detail, and she didn’t realise she was holding her breath. They fluttered over the jewels and found the price tag. She swallowed down her disappointment.

“I can’t afford this.”

“I can.”

Her eyes cut to him. “What?”

“I said,” Avery repeated patiently. “I can.”

“I heard, I’m just not sure that you did,” Hermione replied. Her fingers were frozen on the dress. He was still holding it out for her, and a wry smirk curled his lips.

“I know what I said."

Her throat felt tight and she licked her lips (which had gone irritatingly dry). “Why?” she asked quietly. “Why would you do something like that?”

Avery lowered his eyes to the dress, and the pad of his thumb played with the decoration. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Hermione watched him expectantly. Finally, he said, “I’m not entirely sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii guys! As you can probably tell, I quite like Avery! There's just something really fun about writing him, so he will be making a few appearances, along with Regulus.   
> I guess, as Hermione said in this chapter, Avery reminds her of Draco Malfoy, or the Draco Malfoy that she should've known- quite arrogant, very Slytherin, charming yet irritating. Yes, I do like my Slytherin, but regarding the people who were wondering if he's a love interest or if I ship them, I'd say not. There's too much potential between Remus/Hermione and Sirius/Hermione (and I've also noticed some folks requesting more Regulus/Hermione) so I think her friendship with Avery is just that: friendship. They're both curious about each other, but I think that's it. But who knows? It's not like I planned any of these chapters out. I wrote the first chapter, and somehow, 36 chapters and (let's be honest) many tears later, we're here! So who knows? I might surprise you yet.
> 
> Also I think it's worth mentioning, I've seen loooads of you getting worried about the warning I gave regarding the plans I have for this fic. I don't want to give away too much because I'm trying to be original!! But all I can say is please trust me! I promise to do what is best for the fic, whilst *hopefully* avoiding common cliches because I do genuinely want you to like this story!


	38. Chapter 38- The Rock

Hermione stared at him.

"What do you mean hide my Slytherin side?" She asked, trying to dispel the awkwardness. She readjusted her grip on the curtain, which was still the only thing covering her body.

Avery raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the change of subject; he seemed just as relieved as she was.

" _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it,"_ he recited.

"Shakespeare," Hermione recognised in surprise.

"Macbeth-" he specified.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that she _knew_ which exact play it was from and that she could _indeed_ tell him at what point the line was spoken, when they were interrupted.

The door burst open, and an avalanche of cold escaped into the shop. Hermione retracted her hand from the dress as though she had been burnt, and moved it to clutch the curtain tighter. Her head shot to look at who it was.

"Oh," Lily exclaimed. Her cheeks were flushed, darkening each second, as she stared at them. Her eyes flicked to Avery. "The- er, boys are waiting for us at The Three Broomsticks.”

Hermione’s mouth parted. She looked at Avery’s chin, which she could just see if she didn’t tilt her head back, but she could feel him watching her. He hadn’t even looked at Lily, and he was still holding the dress between them. They were so close- Hermione hadn’t even realised; only the curtain separated them.

“Okay,” she said finally. Her eyes met his.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione cleared her throat, looking away quickly, before she pulled the curtain back along and hastily got dressed. Once she was decent, and she had grabbed her hat and coat, she left the dressing room. Lily had moved completely into the warmth now, but she was still standing in the doorway, uncomfortably staring at her feet. Hermione looked to her left and saw Avery leaning against the side of the changing room, frowning at the redhead. His eyes cut to her when he noticed she was there.

“Hermione?” Lily prompted.

Hermione felt like she should say something to him, like goodbye or thank you, or maybe something completely unrelated. He just stared unwaveringly at her. Her tongue was glued to the bottom of her mouth and her jaw didn’t seem to want to move. She put her hat between her teeth and struggled to put her coat on, reaching back and fumbling for the arm hole.

Avery sighed laboriously and stepped closer to her. He took her coat and held it out, guiding her arms into the sleeves. She felt her face ignite as he spun her around, grabbed her hat from her teeth and shoved it on her head, pushing it right down over her eyes. Hermione huffed.

She adjusted it so she could see and glared at him, but it faded when she saw the blank look on his face. Again, she knew she should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Eventually, she just nodded and moved over to Lily. The redhead hooked her arm through Hermione’s, before leading her out of the shop. Hermione looked back once, but Avery had disappeared amongst the rails of satin and frills.

It had stopped snowing, and the path had been worn down to a glassy ice slip. They both clung onto each other, watching their feet carefully to try and avoid falling.

“So,” Lily said. Hermione felt her throat go tight with anticipation. “You two are friends?”

“Not exactly…”

“I see,” she nodded. Lily cleared her throat and asked, “And were you, er, naked behind that curtain?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione winced, glancing at her friend and said, “Underwear.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “That is interesting.”

Their eyes met, and Hermione felt her lips splitting into a grin at how absurd it sounded. She couldn’t prevent the laugh leaving her mouth and Lily shook her head, but soon dissolved into hysterical laughter as well.

They poured into the warmth of the tavern, and the dimness caused them to squint. The only light was the earnest glow from the fire and candles, and it was such a stark contrast from the wintriness outside. Lily tugged her over to the table where their friends were all sat.

“Hermione!” James announced when he saw her. He moved over for Lily to sit down, but it was a tight squeeze. Dorcas, Mary and Peter had all dragged up chairs as the booth was full.

“Kitten,” Sirius called, and he patted his knee when she looked. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but there was nowhere else to sit and the small circular table between them didn’t look like it could cater to another chair.

Albeit hesitantly, she moved over and perched on his knee. He helped pull her coat off and plucked her hat off her head, draping it over the top of the seats. His arms immediately wrapped around her and he peered over her shoulder to see the rest of the group.

“Where were you, Mione?” Mary asked. She and Peter had a suspicious lack of empty space between them.

Hermione’s eyes met Lily’s. “Just looking for an outfit.”

“Did you buy one in the end?”

She realised dumbly that no, she had in fact not bought one. “No…”

“Oh,” Marlene said. “Kinda defeats the purpose then.”

“You’ve got nothing to wear?” Lily questioned.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

Sirius poked his head round to look up at her hopefully. “So, you’re going naked?”

She sent her elbow back sharply and a low groan erupted from behind her. Sirius’ head fell forward to rest against her back as he endured the pain. James snorted, climbing half-way across the table to give her a high five.

“Remus,” Sirius gritted out. “Do something, this is abuse…”

Remus, who had been unusually quiet until now, said, “You deserved it, Padfoot. I’m not getting in the way of public justice.”

Hermione sent him a pleased smile, and his lips curled ever so slightly.

“Hey,” Dorcas spoke up, changing the conversation. She turned to Lily. “I almost forgot. We ran into Bernie. He wants to meet you in the courtyard after tea.”

Lily opened her mouth to reply, then paused. Licking her lips, she glanced at James and her cheeks coloured. “Okay, thanks.”

“I cannot possibly understand what it is you see in that bloke,” Sirius announced. His voice was still a little breathless, but he seemed to have recovered.

“He’s _nice_ ,” Marlene stressed, eyebrows raised.

“He looks like a potato.”

“-and smart.”

“A squashed potato.”

Remus exhaled in exasperation, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievably, Sirius, not everyone views appearance as the most significant factor when choosing a partner.”

“English, please Moony,” Sirius said, shaking his head.

“In other words,” Hermione replied for him. “Stop being an arse.”

Remus made a genial motion with his hand, accompanied by a slight quirk of his eyebrows that clearly meant, ‘ _See?_ ’ Sirius responded with a rude hand gesture.

The waitress appeared at that point, with a circular tray crammed with an array of glasses full of different drinks. It seemed they had already ordered before she had arrived, and the young women set one down in front of Sirius.

“I didn’t order this,” he said distractedly, eyes flicking to the waitress and back.

She simply continued unloading her tray, plucking the glasses down in the middle of the table to allow people to pick theirs out. She was pretty enough, with dark blonde curls and pink lips.

He looked at her again, pushing the glass towards her. “No, really, I don’t think I ordered this.”

The waitress blinked at him, then her eyes leisurely perused his face.

 “It’s on the house,” she all but purred.

Sirius cocked his head. Hermione frowned. Nevertheless, he pulled the drink back slowly, sliding it to a stop in front of her.

“There you go, Kitten.”

The waitress’ face tightened and she sucked in her cheeks, eyes dusting over Hermione, before coldly smiling and walking away.

Despite the fact that it was nothing, her hands cupped the glass and she gratefully took a mouthful, fighting the temptation to smirk. Smugness fuelled her and she almost felt disgusted at the way she was behaving, but the final outraged look the waitress sent her was worth it.

The liquid was sweet and efficient in warming her body, which seemed to be as frozen on the inside as she felt on the outside. Her skin erupted in goosebumps from the swift change in temperature. Sirius noticed, and his hands rubbed her arms.

“What about you, Hermione?” Dorcas asked, resting her chin on her knuckles. Her eyes were sparkling and curious. Her voice was silky. “Someone tells me that you were with a certain Slytherin. Avery, was it?”

She choked on her Butterbeer. Hermione felt her blood go cold momentarily and she wondered how Dorcas knew, but she supposed it was simple. The shop had windows, and the students, whilst questionably imbecilic, were capable of looking through glass and gossiping about what they saw beyond that glass.

“Avery?” Remus asked sharply.

Peter pulled a face. “Isn’t he that one that I was going to beat up? The tree-looking guy?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about the falsity of the first question. “He does not look like a tree.”

“He confronted you before, didn’t he? After Defence?” Remus continued, eyebrows tightly knitted together.

Marlene’s face lit up. “Oh, he’s the dishy one, right?”

“Is he troubling you?” Remus pressed.

“That gorilla?” Sirius questioned incredulously.

“What is it with your insults today, Padfoot? They’re terrible!” James said in a voice that suggested his friend was disgracing him.

“Yes, Marls, the dishy one,” Hermione said.

Sirius’ pouting face appeared once more at her shoulder. “Why must you hurt me?”

“Because he doesn’t look like a gorilla. He’s actually very lovely.”

She had no idea why she was defending him, but the words flew from her mouth before she could think twice.

“I thought I was _very lovely_?” He continued indignantly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Two people can be very lovely at once, Sirius.”

At the offended look he adopted, she wagered he didn’t believe this to be true, at all.

“I don’t suppose it’d make you feel any better, but _I_ love you Padfoot,” Remus added, smiling genially.

Sirius looked at her in triumph and said, pointing, “That is true love, Granger.”

And he reached over Marlene, who was wedged between them, to pat Remus’ cheek. It didn’t look as though Remus appreciated this gesture.

James turned to Lily and said, unsure, “You don’t think he’s good looking, do you Lil?”

Lily hummed, mulling it over. “I guess he is. In a sort of strong-but-silent way.”

Marlene closed her eyes, leaning back against her the cushion and said, “Mm mm, just the way I like my men.”

Hermione didn’t know why, but this made her feel slightly uncomfortable and she turned to Mary and asked quickly, “So, who are you going with to the ball?”

The other girl faltered, eyes lowering to trace the grooves in the table. “Uh, no one’s asked me.”

Four pairs of accusing eyes landed on Peter, whose ears were red. There was an awkward silence, in which they waited for Pete to say something, anything. He didn’t. He avoided looking at Mary altogether. The silence dragged on into minutes, and Lily and Hermione shared an unconfident look.

“Dear Merlin,” James said loudly. His head fell into his hands. “I can’t sit here and watch this. The second-hand embarrassment is very real.”

When he resurfaced, he looked at Peter. James said in a serious voice, “Wormy, I love you mate, but _Godric Gryffindor_ help me if you don’t find the courage to ask Mary out. You both like each other. You both don’t have dates. Coincidence? Fate? Destiny? I don’t really give a shit, just please, spare us from this agony and ask the poor girl out!”

He had become more and more dramatic throughout his little speech, so much so that by the end of it, James had leaned all the way across the table just to emphasise his point. There was a shocked pause.

Peter was so red, it was a mystery as to how he hadn’t exploded yet. He swallowed, turning to Mary and asked, “Do you want to, erm, go to the ball with, er…”

“Me?” Mary prompted.

“That’s the word,” Peter said lamely.

A huge grin stretched across her face and she said, “Yes. I’d love to.”

James collapsed in relief. Sirius grabbed Hermione’s arms and waved them in the air. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, laughing. He was whooping and he shouted, “ _Our Petey’s all grown up!”_

He wiggled her arms.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Much later on, after they had trudged back up to the castle, and eaten, and Lily had wandered off to go meet Bernie (much to James’ displeasure), they all retired to the Common Room. Everyone bar Remus was sprawled across the living area in front of their fire.

“Where’s Moony?” Sirius asked. James shrugged.

Without looking up, he said morosely, “Said he was going to get something. Haven’t seen him since.”

He’d been this sad ever since tea, when he’d watched Lil leave. Sirius slapped him on the shoulder, before pulling himself up and meandering up the stairs to their dormitory.

Sure enough, Remus was sat on his bed, staring at the wall. Sirius felt his chest tighten.

“Do you feel sad?” He asked in a low voice, stopping to lean against the doorway.

“I’m not sure,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius’ eyes devoured every inch of his face, searching for the slightest contraction of pain; anything that would give away how his friend felt inside.

“It’s weird,” he said. “You don’t look depressed.”

"Oh," Remus seemed surprised by this and he looked above his head, then back at Sirius in disbelief. "Sorry, I appear to have left my personal thunderstorm at home."

He frowned.

Remus carried on, "Normally, it follows me everywhere. You know, so people know I'm chronically depressed. But I'm forgetful. What a shame."

Sirius sighed and looked away. Despite being the calmest one in the group, he had a sharp tongue, especially when he was feeling too much for his poor body to handle. "You can disarm your defences, you know," he said quietly, not looking at him. Remus’ eyes were hot on his skin. "I'm not going to attack you so there's no need for sarcasm."

Glancing up, he saw Remus had closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am.”

Sirius inhaled deeply. “I meant you don’t look depressed because you look whole.”

Remus gave him a small, wry smile. “I’m cracking at the seams, Sirius.”

_“Don’t say that.”_

There was a pregnant pause in which Remus opened his eyes and looked at him.

“How’ve you been sleeping?” He asked.

“Better,” Sirius nodded. His voice was still hard. “No nightmares.”

“She makes you happy, doesn’t she?” Remus asked.

He paused, clenching his jaw, before he nodded, softening, and said, “Yeah. She really does.”

They both stared at each other. Sirius licked his lips, looking away fleetingly before saying, “It’s only a dance.”

Remus watched him. “I sometimes wonder if it’s more than magic, what connects us. I sometimes wonder if it’s so much more.”

Overcome with a sudden horrified thought, Sirius ventured, “That’s not- what this is about, is it? It’s not about her?”

Remus shook his head.

“Then what is it?”

He didn’t say anything for a second but then Remus murmured, “I’m just tired.”

Sirius wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just wordlessly moved to sit next to him and draped an arm around Remus’ shoulder, pulling his lean and fragile body to him.

He hated to see Remus like this. It reminded him that even the strongest people, even _his_ rock, could crumble under the weight of a feather. And Sirius didn’t want to think that if this was true for Remus, who was twice the man he could ever hope to be… what that meant for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Soooo sorry for the long wait. I had major writer's block so if this chapter seems rushed, I'm sorry! I hate myself for inflicting so much pain on Remus:( I think I may have mentioned it ages ago in the fic but these boys aren't as happy-go-lucky as they seem. Sirius and Remus especially have major mental illness issues as a result of their childhood and it hurts to have to write them suffering but it's necessary. I hope this was okay, anyway!
> 
> I also am thrilled with how well received Avery is! I'm so happy because that means I can write more of him! Anyway, I have a biology test tomorrow and it's nearly midnight so I must go! Byyeeeee!


	39. Chapter 39- The Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I did okay on my test!! Thanks so much for all of your messages!!! :D  
> Sorry this one is so short! I tried to add to it, but it worked better like this!

** Chapter 39- The Box **

The next week passed in a blur of mundanity. As the time crept by, there was a noticeable new-found buzz in the air. Whether this was attributable to the upcoming ball or Christmas, Hermione didn't know, but it was refreshing to feel that infectious excitement. She welcomed it. Personally, she wasn't too fussed about the holiday. She had no home to go back to and no money to spend on her friends, so the fact that Christmas was in just three weeks did nothing to appease her. And yet, she couldn't deny her relief at the holidays. Never did she think that she would long for the holidays as much as she did now.

Nothing stood out and the five days between their trip to Hogsmeade and the Christmas Ball were over unbelievably quick. It was only on the Thursday that something even remotely interesting happened, if you discounted the fact that Peter nearly got his ear pulled off by a particularly nasty Jarvey, after he did no more than excitedly announce that the creature looked like a rat.

The ferret-like beast had snarled and spat at him, hissing expletives, and pounced on his head, where it had commenced to try and claw or bite Peter's ear off. Sirius and James had almost collapsed in a fit of hysterical amusement. Mary had cried. Hermione and Lily had both helped Professor Meryl to unlatch the thing from his face and trap it back in its cage.

In the end, a very shocked Peter had had to be escorted to the Hospital Wing, as blood dribbled down the side of his head, and his left ear had little chunks missing from it.

No, Hermione wouldn't count that as interesting, even though Peter had returned with a thick bandage wrapped lopsidedly around one side of his head. Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had refused to heal it out of spite as she claimed it was foolish enough that he got within five metres of the beast, never mind insulted it. The dressing kept slipping down over his eye, so James had made no less than 47 pirate-related jokes in two days.

The interesting event that happened on the Thursday involved a certain Slytherin, with a decided determination to avoid her against all odds.

It was after her final lesson, and Hermione had been heading to the library to check out a book for her homework, when she rounded the corner at the same time Regulus Black appeared on the other side.

He froze when he saw her, eyes wide, throat tight. He swallowed.

"We didn't get a chance to talk," she said, walking closer. Part of her was pleased to see him, knowing she had to grasp every opportunity, regardless of his reluctance. Another part wanted to turn in the opposite direction and keep walking. Judging by the trepidation on his pale face, Regulus would've preferred that too.

He clenched his jaw and said, "I know. It was a shame."

There was a slight twinge of sarcasm that reminded her of Sirius, but it was dry enough that she chose not to comment. She stared at him. "I never expected you to be Avery's bitch."

Regulus' eyes dropped, but his entire body was rigid.

"I thought you'd be like your brother," Hermione continued, pushing him, prodding, waiting for the explosion. He trembled. "Not listening to anyone, not taking anyone's orders-"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Regulus stressed, voice bordering on a yell, the veins in his neck throbbing. He moved towards her, then seemed to realise he was too close before stepping back again. Licking his lips, he briefly closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and tried again, "It's not as simple as that."

Hermione breached the distance between them. "Then tell me," she said softly. "Help me understand."

Regulus watched her guardedly. "Why?" He asked.

"I want to help you-" she replied.

"No," he smiled stonily. "You want to help Sirius-"

Hermione wanted to scream. She stepped forwards once more, so they were closer than ever and said, "If I wanted to help Sirius, I wouldn't be putting this much effort into meeting you without anyone finding out what I'm doing!"

There must have been some desperate plea in her voice, or some conviction behind her words, for Regulus' face slackened. He shook his head unevenly, and raggedly, and it looked like it might slip from his shoulders.

"Why do you care?" He murmured. The bewilderment in his voice was raw and thick. "No one else does."

"That's not true," Hermione said.

"It _is_ true," Regulus shrugged, but his voice was cracked, heavy, like he had accepted this a long time ago.

She couldn't help but stare at him. He was so fragile, so quiet and beautiful but broken at the same time. The brokenness was the only thing ugly about him, and she wanted to piece him back together, even though she didn't know him. She wanted to save him.

"Maybe that's why, then," Hermione said, smiling sadly. "Maybe I care because no one else bothers to. Maybe I care because you deserve someone, and you do. I wouldn't be wasting sleep on you if you didn't."

He opened his mouth, hesitating, then said, "You lose sleep over me?"

"Yes," Hermione uttered. Her next words were barely indentations in the air. The honesty choked her. "I have no idea how to save you."

Regulus didn't seem to know what to say. There was a tangible fear staining his young face. His eyes were locked on her, and she wanted to reassure him, to pull him close like a small child and stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be okay. But that would be a lie. Because Regulus Black wasn't going to be okay. Not if he wouldn't let her help him. He was going to be dragged to the depths of despair and infernal obliteration, and no one would ever know the extents of his sacrifice. He would die an uncharted hero; to the world, a coward who ran away from a war he was too foolish to understand the consequences of.

"I don't know why, I just can't figure it out," she whispered. "I need to save you because otherwise you're going to fall, slip away into the shadows and you're too young for that. You're too good for that, Regulus. You're so good and it will destroy you if I can't do this."

The undulated perplexity on his face was fringed with panic, as he regarded her with wide eyes. That was the most she had ever told him.

He hadn't spoken in a while, so Hermione questioned, "Regulus?"

A flash of pain echoed across his dark, smudged face but it was gone before she could really see it.

"But what if it's too late?" Regulus whispered.

The terror leaked into his voice.

"I don't think it is."

"But if it _is_?"

She paused, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Hermione licked her dry lips and said shakily, meaning every word, "I won't accept that."

Regulus' expression morphed into something else, something indecipherable. There was a newfound crease between his eyes. He said, almost breathlessly, "Where did you come from?"

Hermione frowned. She hadn't realised but she was trembling. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no one else would do this. You're different, you're so- different," Regulus spoke as if he was having difficulty finding the right words. "You're not like anyone here. You're so much more."

She shook her head and said, "I'm not. I'm just a girl."

His lips curled imperceptibly. Regulus' voice was quiet when he said, "I won't accept that."

oOoOoOo

The situation played in Hermione's mind even on the Saturday of the ball. She couldn't get the little smile that changed his entire face or the softness in his eyes out of her head. There was something so vulnerable about Regulus that this abrupt easiness seemed like admission to her, like acceptance.

He wanted her to help him.

"It's barbaric!" Lily cried suddenly, returning from the bathroom. Hermione was wrenched from her reverie. Her friend had a towel wrapped around her waist and her red hair was dripping onto the floor. Mary winced at the growing puddle.

"What is?" Hermione asked curiously, looking around to see if she'd missed anything. But it seemed Marlene, Mary and Dorcas (who had come to get ready with them) were just as bewildered as she was.

Lily lifted one arm in the air (her other was clutching at the towel, keeping it in place). She said, "Why do women have to shave? More importantly why are we expected to shave for men?" She wiggled her arm for emphasis. "It's sexist. It's so unfair! A boy should love me for me, not for the smoothness of my arms!"

Mary and Marlene exchanged a glance. Hermione bit back a laugh.

"In fact," she continued righteously. "I'm not going to shave my armpits. Just to prove a point."

"That's so gross," Mary said. Lily huffed. "No, seriously. Only German girls have hairy armpits."

"Are you German?" Marlene asked politely, resuming brushing her hair.

Lily frowned at her. "Shut up. That's ridiculous."

"Sounds like something a German would say," she said, looking at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows, smiling.

"Is your dress long-sleeved or short-sleeved?" Dorcas asked critically.

"Short."

She pulled a face. "Bernie is not going to be lucky tonight. I'll just have to warn him not to do any dance that involves the raising of one's arms."

Lily scoffed and in a snide voice, said, "I'm not dressing up for Bernie."

"For James then?" Hermione questioned innocently.

The dark blush that rose on Lily's face contradicted her next words: "No!" She chastised, before adding primly, "I'm dressing up for myself."

Hermione grinned at her. Lily scowled, letting out a frustrated huff before disappearing back into the bathroom.

"Oh, Mione," Mary announced suddenly. Her dark eyes were round. "I almost forgot! A house elf brought you a package! I put it in your drawer."

A small frown marred her face as Hermione ventured over to find the little box. It wasn't wrapped, but had a small green ribbon tied around it. Her eyebrows furrowed even deeper.

She picked it up (it was quite large, only just fitting in the drawer), and moved to sit on her bed. With nimble fingers, she undid the bow, lying the ribbon beside her. Hermione didn't know what to expect, but whatever she had in mind was certainly not even anywhere near correct.

Her lips parted. Her eyes widened. She dipped her fingers into the box. The material was coarse and expensive between her fingers, and the gold looked even more elegant than she last remembered. The dusting of jewels twinkled in the light, and the lace of the sleeves and bodice was intricate. Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

It was the dress. Avery had bought her the gold dress.

"Woah," Mary uttered, from the bed to her right, shuffling to get a closer look. This exclamation captured the other girls' attention, who made their way over.

Marlene's jaw dropped. She asked incredulously, "Where did you get that from, Mione?!"

Dorcas raised her eyebrows.

Hermione didn't know what to say.

Lily appeared at that point, curlers tight in her auburn hair. She was frowning. "What's all the fuss about?"

When she got close enough, a soft "Oh," left her lips. "I thought you said you didn't buy a dress?"

Marlene pouted, turning to Dorcas, she commented, "Sirius is going to be so disappointed."

Hermione didn't reply, just continued to stare at it. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe him!

Why had Avery done that? They didn't even know each other and yet he'd bought her a dress! And an expensive dress, at that!

Hermione lifted the dress completely out of the box, and the material swished as she moved it. A small piece of parchment drifted to the floor; her eyes snagged on it.

Curiously, she picked it up. Her face slackened when she saw what was on it. In a simple, elegant scrawl, it read:

_'I don't want to fall either.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Aw, now you ship Hermione/Avery?! Ahaha, I love you guys! I suppose I can slip in more interactions depending on the reaction they get... I do write to keep you happy! But don't hold your breath for any romance!
> 
> Regulus! Oh dear, this broke my heart to write, I just feel for him so much! He was just a boy who lost himself in the darkness!
> 
> Hope you liked this! The next chapter is the ball;)
> 
> **Update: If you read this before, I've changed Halloween to Christmas ball, as it makes it easier for the direction of the story!**


	40. Chapter 40- The Christmas Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Quick important thing: I have changed the time of the fic! It doesn't affect the story too much, except instead of it being Halloween (October) it's now Christmas (December) just because it felt to be lagging and I wanted to speed it up a bit. This fits much better!! It's also better for the ball.
> 
> I have been going through altering it, which is why I haven't updated but if I've missed anything please tell me!!
> 
> Sorry for the long silence, I'm in my school show so I've had rehearsals every night and most weekends and whilst I've been writing, I haven't had time to sit down and put it all together to form a coherent chapter.

** Chapter 40- The Christmas Ball **

 

Remus sat on his bed. He still hadn’t made it from that morning, so the covers were all over the place and his uniform was strewn across the floor from where he’d left it. He was already dressed in his robes, unlike the others, and since he had no date to impress, he didn’t fancy staring at his appearance in the mirror more than he had to.

Sirius returning from the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He sauntered over, and Remus’ eyes were attracted to him. He let them trace the leanness of his torso, the straight but firm set of his shoulders, the definition in his arms sculptured from years of Quidditch practise. He couldn’t help but connect the few beauty spots and scars that decorated Sirius’ back, joining them up like they were constellations in the sky.

"Enjoying the view, Moony?" Sirius grinned.

Remus ducked his head, averting his eyes quickly, and it was only half-hearted when he said, "Your arrogance proceeds you."

Sirius barked a laugh but he pulled a shirt over his head, and Remus, blushing, looked at him again. As Sirius pulled his trousers on, his eyes snagged on him, and he frowned. After buckling his belt, he said, “What’s wrong?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Nothing.”

Sirius didn’t look convinced. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and said, “Seriously, Remus. What’s happened?”

He dropped his jacket on the floor, and came over to sit beside him on the bed. Remus shuffled over so they could both fit, and their arms were pressed against each other. He could feel Sirius’ heart beating and hear it loud in his ears.

He looked sideways, but his gaze quickly redirected to the floor when Sirius looked back. He swallowed.

“I don’t know,” Remus offered, a small and painful smile curled his lips. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sirius breathed in. He said, “I thought it was getting better?”

“It was,” said Remus shortly. “And then it wasn’t.”

He could feel Sirius’ eyes, steady and concerned, burning into him. “Do you want me to go on a walk with you tonight? I don’t mind. We can go to that place we used to go to, when we both couldn’t sleep, remember-?”

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t mind-” began Sirius.

“I’m okay,” Remus cut him off, and he forced himself to look him in the eye. He knew he looked tired, but he hoped the urging and resolution would sate Sirius. It didn’t.

For Sirius said quietly, “No. You’re not.”

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but it was at that moment that James came out of the bathroom. He looked between them and said, eyes wide behind his glasses, “Are you ready to go then?”

Remus stood up, and the space beside Sirius felt cold. He sighed, before he too forced himself to move, sweeping his jacket up from its place on the floor and slipping his arms into it. James and Peter left the dorm, and before Remus could follow, Sirius reached out and stopped him.

Remus turned back.

Sirius swallowed. Then, he smiled reassuringly and said, “Your hair is atrocious.”

He stretched up and flattened down his golden hair, resisting the urge to run his hands though it because it felt softer than what he’d imagined. Remus let out a shaky breath.

“There,” said Sirius. “Now you at least look presentable. Come on. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

**oOo**

Hermione couldn't stop staring at the mirror. The girl reflected back at her was most certainly not one she had ever seen when looking at her own reflection.

No, the girl before her had brown hair that fell in sleek ringlets, shining in the light. Her skin seemed to be glowing. Marlene had done her makeup (after Hermione had made her swear not to do anything too garish) and Dorcas had turned out to be a pretty good artist. Instead of masks to complete their outfits, Dorcas had painted intricate swirls and patterns, twirling snowflakes and flowers, on all of their faces. Hermione’s was white to compliment her dress. Lily’s was also, as her dress was coloured pearl and blended into the paleness of her skin; her hair stood out like a vibrant flame. Mary was wearing a simple white dress that stopped at her knees, with a full skirt and long sleeves. Her mask was a pale pink that shimmered on her dark skin. Marlene and Dorcas had gone for the more patriotic decision, and so they each wore their house colours proudly. Marlene sashayed about in a deep red gown that billowed out at her hips. On the contrary, Dorcas’ midnight blue dress stretched up to frame her neck and puffed out at her shoulders.

 "You look beautiful," Lily said, coming up behind her and resting her chin on her shoulder.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "You do, Lil."

"And I look bloody gorgeous!" Marlene announced, spinning for them all. "Now are we ready? I think the boys have been waiting for an hour."

"Not Sirius," Hermione said. A small smirk threatened to curl her lips. With wide eyes, she added, "He'll still be doing his hair."

Marls snorted. Dorcas grinned. And they all glanced in the mirror a final time before heading downstairs. Hermione's fingers feathered on the edge of her wand, slid up inside her sleeve. Her heart was beating, pounding, loud in her ears. It was funny how she had fought in a war, and yet something as trivial as a school ball still frightened her.

She took a deep breath, eyes grazing over her reflection once more. She deserved this. She had fought in a war, she had survived. She deserved to be happy, to enjoy herself, to throw everything away and dance like it was the last thing she would ever do.

She was safe here, untouchable. Hermione nodded and slipped out of the dormitory.

Sure enough, the boys were there. They all looked immaculate and were beaming. Peter was grinning the widest and his one eye (he was still wearing that pirate bandage) popped out of his head at the sight of Mary. When he offered her his arm, he looked to be shaking.

Hermione's eyes fell on James next, who was staring with a whimsical sort of longing etched across his face. He looked so handsome, his dark hair had been brushed (most likely by Sirius) but his glasses were still higher over his right eye than his left. Despite someone's best attempts, James still looked lopsided. His hair seemed inclined to fall more to the right, also. Lily was staring right back at him, a breathless smile dimpling her pink cheeks. Hermione just hoped Sirius knew what he was doing with this plan.

Remus was stood next to James. He looked shabby and tired and the darkness under his eyes matched the darkness of his suit. Hermione felt her eyebrows pull together at the sight of him. He looked wasted; sallow cheekbones and hooded eyes. She knew it wasn't Moony. The wolf wouldn't be surfacing for another three weeks now, but that still didn't explain the tiredness he carried.

His eyes raised to her and he seemed to soften. Hermione smiled at him, and dragged her eyes away. She felt breathless when she saw Sirius.

He looked effortlessly regal, and his heritage was clear from the structure of his face, framed by dark cheekbones and a distinctive jawline. His eyelashes cast shadows. And yet, although his unwilling affiliation with the House of Black was prominent, he somehow made it obvious that he wasn't really one of them. Hermione didn't know exactly what it was; maybe the fraying hems of his jacket, or the single piece of hair that fell in front of his eyes, or the thick Muggle rope band around his wrist, besides another bracelet coloured deep red. All she knew was that Sirius was so good at hiding his roots. He made it clear to anyone looking who he was affiliated with from the contentment of his being; his boys, his brothers.

This was who he was. Not another carbon copy of a Death Eater.

"You look beautiful," he said when she got close enough.

Hermione blushed, looking down. "Thank you."

She wasn't accustomed to compliments.

"Where are you meeting Bernie?" Dorcas asked Lily, who seemed immediately uncomfortable with the question. James looked away.

"In there."

"So that means we can go down?" Marlene asked. Then, she frowned. "Wait, we have got everyone, haven't we? Don't want it to be like last year."

Instantly curious, Hermione asked, "Why? What happened last year?"

"We left Peter stuck up a Christmas tree." Marlene paused before adding, "I would elaborate but there really is no rational explanation." She did a head count, and Hermione grinned. It felt nice to be a part of something like this; they were like a family. Sure, a dysfunctional, troubled and odd family, but a family nevertheless.

Once Marls had confirmed that no one had gotten stuck up a tree, they all set off. She, Remus and Sirius dawdled at the back, watching as Lily burst out laughing at something James had said.

"Operation Deerly Beloved," Sirius said in a hushed voice. "Remember the plan. Any questions?"

Remus raised his hand, wincing. He asked wryly, "Is it too late to change the name?"

"Yes."

He grimaced. "Shame."

Hermione played with the lace of her dress. Frowning, she said, “How confident are you that this is going to work?”

Sirius considered this. “Fairly. I have a tendency to be successful.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he beamed at her. Remus said, “You can’t just force two people to be together.”

"It's not force if the two people in question just need a little push."

"Or in this case, a wand up the arse," Remus commented. Hermione's eyes widened at his choice of comparison, and she shot him a look. He grinned sheepishly.

"It's not really interfering though, is it?" She questioned, feeling nervous. She hated the idea of forcing Harry's parents to be together, even if it was the best bet at the moment. "I mean, it's like opening their eyes a little.  That's all, right?"

"Right. Opening their eyes, kicking them up the backside, widening their horizons," Sirius listed. He smiled down at her. "Whatever makes you feel better."

Remus frowned. "It sounds like we're playing Cupid."

Hermione bit her lip, shooting him a glance. He raised an eyebrow.

"You know," Sirius said thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to meet that little guy, set him straight, knock a few teeth out. I feel like he deserves it for all the bad choices he's made for me."

Remus was staring at him, a crease between his eyebrows. Hermione looked at him. Somehow, she didn't think Sirius was talking about his bad luck with girls. She slid her arm through his.

“I guess that means you’ll just have to give him hell,” said Remus quietly and Sirius snapped out of it. There was a moment where the two boys stared at one another, and then the doors of the Great Hall loomed before them and they both looked away. They passed a few stray couples, eyes glued on the tiny crack of light.

Sirius set his shoulders back, and stood up tall. He crooked his elbow at the perfect angle for her to hold onto him and Hermione could almost see his wall go back up, as the easy smile slid onto his face, and his eyes sparked.

"Smile, sunshine," he murmured to her.

She did.

Just as the colossal doors began to open, Remus, on her right, murmured, "Cranachan."

"Bless you," Sirius replied.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking incredulously at them.

Nobody said anything until Sirius (who appeared deep in thought) said, "Spotted dick," with barely concealed amusement. His lips twitched and glee was evident in his eyes.

Remus just stared at him. Shaking his head, he said almost disparagingly, "You say that every year."

Hermione was still watching them in bewilderment.

"We like to bet," Sirius explained, but this didn't help. She frowned.

"On what?"

"Anything," Remus shrugged. "This year, it happens to be the special for desert."

She mulled this over. They were strange boys, Hermione thought. But they were  _her_  strange boys. "Surely, it's Christmas pudding?"

Remus quirked an eyebrow at her cooperation. "You'd be surprised," he said dryly.

"Why?" She asked, smiling. "Isn't that the obvious choice?"

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make any sense whatsoever!" Hermione laughed, wrinkling her nose up. "It's Christmas! Why wouldn't it be Christmas pudding?"

"It's Dumbledore,” said Remus dubiously.

"Screw that," Sirius said, he grinned at the pair of them, and answered in a voice that clearly thought this was answer enough, "It's _Hogwarts_."

At that point, the doors opened. Hermione's mouth dropped.

The Great Hall was unrecognisable. She knew it hadn't been this beautifully decorated in her time, not even for the Yule Ball. The ceiling had morphed into one of a winter’s night, with a dark blanket of sky stretching as long as the building and pinpricks of stars. Hermione craned her neck back to stare in awe at the simplicity; they were twinkling, winking down at her.

Everywhere she looked was white and crystallised. Icicles hung from the traditional adornments, and Christmas trees, decorated lavishly, were dotted around, all wearing coats of powered white. It wasn’t too bright, whilst there was an abundance of whiteness, there was more the feel of evening, and a distinct darkness embraced them, soothing their eyes.

There was a long overseeing table for the teachers and multiple smaller, rounder tables had been set for students. As opposed to the one ball Hermione had been to in her time, it seemed the whole school was invited and little First Years skipped by, giggling and chatting. She devoured this euphoria. Everyone was smiling, and Hermione honestly couldn't remember a time where she had been this infected with undulated, untouched happiness.

"Magical, isn't it?" Remus asked, watching her.

She could only look at him. She said, “It’s wonderful.”

And it was. It truly was.

Lily said, "Oh, Bernie!" Turning to look at them all, her eyes flitted more than once to James as she said, "I'll see you all later."

And she made her way over to someone on the far side of the room.

Peter turned to Mary, swinging their entwined hands between them and asked, “Do you want to find somewhere to sit?”

She pulled a face. “We’re at a _ball!_ You don’t go to balls to sit around. Let’s dance!”

“But there’s no music playing…?” Peter trailed off, befuddlement pulling his eyebrows together.

Mary just grinned, tugging him closer. She reached up to arrange the bandage back into place, as it had once again slipped over his eye. Then, she grabbed his hand and said, “Why should that stop us?” And dragged him to the dance floor.

Hermione’s eyes still raked the hall. It truly  _was_  breath-taking. The beams in the ceiling were glazed over, and there were even a few snowmen dotted around, smiling.

She could almost pretend this wasn’t the same place her friends got murdered.

Almost.

“Hermione?” Sirius asked. He was at her side.

She felt hot very suddenly.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Hermione said.

Despite the sky mirage, everything seemed very enclosed and tight. Her mouth went dry, and she made it to the drinks table within no time; her hands shook as she poured herself a Butterbeer. The liquid was a cold and sweet relief, similar to the one she felt when she noticed Sirius hadn’t followed her.

Closing her eyes, she continued to drink. Both her hands clutched the glass as though it would slip from her grasp should she not hold it tight enough.  _You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re safe._

"I told you it would hide your Slytherin side."

Hermione jumped, the glass falling from her fingers. Avery caught it before it hit the floor.

She watched him carefully as he straightened up, putting her empty goblet back onto the table. She frowned. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Are you okay?” She asked. He ignored her.

“I wasn’t really sure about the dress at first, what with it being golden,” Avery said. He had large bags underneath his eyes, and a distinctive unsettlement surrounding him. He seemed to be talking to distract her, but his lips barely moved. Hermione held her breath. “But I guess you look passable.”

She hit his chest, and he flashed a brief smile. She could see the tension at the corners of his mouth, however, and the pain that tightened his eyes. She hadn’t hit him hard. Why had that hurt him?

“Avery, are you sure-?”

“Granger,” Avery said sternly. “Please shut your mouth, just this once, and play  _along_.”

Hermione frowned, but forced herself to continue the conversation. His wellbeing was clearly something he didn’t want to discuss. The hairs on her arms stood up at his tone; why was he acting like this? Swallowing, she said, “Why weren’t you keen on the gold?”

He looked at her as though she were stupid. “I’m a snake, remember?”

She thought of all of her encounters with Avery so far. Despite her purposely calling him that in the shop, he was no snake. He did not speak with a poison-soaked tongue, and his skin was not scaly. He wasn’t what she had expected. He was something else entirely.

“But you’re not,” Hermione said.

His eyes shot to her. He obviously hadn’t been expecting that.

Licking her lips, she continued, “And you don’t want to be, do you?”

Avery regarded her steadily, cautiously, “Why do you care?”

“Curiosity.”

“Killed the cat-”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she countered, raising an eyebrow. He stared at her. His eyes were impressionably dark, boring into her with an indecipherable undertone that she couldn’t shy away from. He looked confused, unsure, almost lost.

_I don’t want to fall either._

Hermione briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, she felt determination lick at her insides, burning and writhing deep within her. She said, “Avery, did you mean what you said? That you don’t want to-”

In a second, his arm whipped out and grabbed her, roughly pulling her to the side. Alarm made her heart leap. But she wasn’t scared. Not of him.

“What are you-?”

“Granger,” Avery said in a low voice. His fingers were like an iron clasp on her bicep, and this close she could see the slight sheen of sweat clinging to his perfectly uniformed hair. His eyes kept flitting to the people spinning around them. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Hermione felt her blood turn cold. Avery’s eyes once more snagged on something, and she followed their trail to see Malfoy. He was watching them coolly, standing on the other side of the dancefloor.

Speaking out of the corner of her mouth, she murmured, “Avery, is there something we need to talk about?”

Her eyes cut into his.

There was a moment of trepid hesitation, where the world around them froze; people adopting the stillness of the icicles that adorned everything, morphing into decoration. They were simple extras in this frame, and Hermione didn’t even notice them. All that existed was the insecurity in Avery’s eyes.

And then reality resumed. The music came back, pounding. The thrum of life came back, surrounding them. Avery said, smooth and collected like the Slytherin he was, “No.”

**oOoOoOo**

"I like your latest accessory, McKinnon," Sirius smirked, sidling up next to her and folding his arms. They both stood on the edge of the dancefloor, eyes lazily perusing the scene before them. Their friends had merged into the dancing couples.

Peter was awkwardly stood in the middle of everyone, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Mary swung her thick hair about. Dorcas had managed to convince Remus to dance with her, and the two were laughing and jumping about to the surprisingly up-tempo beat of the current song. A ghost of a smile curled Sirius’ lips. James had disappeared altogether.

Marlene cocked her head appraisingly. A slender finger twirled a lock of her hair. She grinned, "He  _is_ pretty."

Then, she blinked and cast him a glance. “What about yours?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows and huffed, “Hermione is _not_ an accessory-”

“I wasn’t talking about Hermione,” Marlene drawled.

Sirius’ head snapped away from the dancefloor to look at her, and his eyes burned into hers. Finally, he coughed, looking away, and asked, “What happened to Amos?”

She scoffed, eyes rolling skyward and Sirius let himself smirk. “No love lost there then?”

“No. He was like a sloth,” Marlene replied distastefully. Her lip curled. “Hairy, smelly and clingy. Not my type, darling.”

"Still, I never thought you'd go for a Puff," he continued. "Lily, I can see. Unluckily for James, it's the wrong  _kind_  of puff. But you," he clicked his tongue. "I'd have put you down as a snake person."

She considered this then wrinkled her nose. "I don’t do slime. So it depends how gorgeous they are. Hermione's boy-toy, for example, I would-"

"My  _what_  now?" Hermione demanded incredulously, suddenly joining the conversation. "He's most certainly not..." She blushed. " _That_!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Thank Merlin. I would've had to question your taste, love."

"I came to the ball with you," she said dead-panned. "That’s cause enough to question it."

His face dropped into one of resignation and he screwed it up and stuck his tongue out at her as Marlene dissolved into laughter, but the abrupt commencement of a new song sobered her up just as quickly. Her eyes caught something.

“Oh, I must away. My Puff is beckoning.” With a wink, she licked her lips and said, “See you later, sweethearts,” before stalking off.

Hermione turned to Sirius, who smiled charmingly at her and offered her his hand. She took it, trying to discard her worry about Avery, but the moment still replayed in her mind, poignant like a bad taste might permeate in her mouth. The music was slow and steady, and Sirius led her further onto the dancefloor, and swung her round so that they were in the waltzing position. She opened her mouth to protest. It had been a long time since she had danced like this.

“I can’t-”

He must have seen the uncertainty in her eyes, for he said, “I can. Just let _me_ boss _you_ around for once.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Sirius winked at her. And they were off. He twirled her around, guiding each step and murmuring instructions to her and they flowed eloquently, fluently. It was actually rather routine once she got into it and she found her feet knowing where to go.

“You’re really good,” Hermione commented, verging on breathless, as he spun her for the fourth time.

Sirius cocked his head. “I don’t know whether to be flattered at the compliment or offended at how surprised you sound.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Do you like this type of music?”

“Classical?” He said and pulled a face. “It fulfils its purpose, but then it’s just a bore. Remus listens to it a lot but I prefer music you can lose yourself in.”

“And you can’t lose yourself in this?”

He gave her a look that clearly showed what he thought of the question but at her furrowed eyebrows, sighed. Sirius said, “You don’t feel a violin in your ribs, you know? You don’t feel a piano reverberating deep within your chest or thrashing so hard inside your skull you think it’s gonna break. Classical music doesn’t consume you. You can’t lose yourself in it.”

Hermione considered this. She remembered all those nights on the run, lonely and cold as they had been and the static radio that had spat out the occasional broken-up song on the classical channel. It was the only thing that had kept her sane, some nights. The only thing that had given her hope.

She hummed. “No, but you can get lost in classical music. Not like that. You don’t feel it inside of you. Or at least not the kind of inside feeling where you fear it might break you. It’s more… unassuming. Like the melody of a violin takes your hand and leads you somewhere without you really protesting, or the sound of a piano can close your eyes and lull you to safety. It’s not the same, not by a longshot… But it’s something just as powerful.”

Sirius didn’t say anything for a second or two, his eyes burned into her. Finally, he said, “So you listened to lots of music in your time?”

Hermione shook her head. “Music wasn’t really my thing. I didn’t care for it as much as I probably would’ve had there not been-”  _bodies everywhere, people dying, screams threatening to implode the very foundation of reality_  “-stuff,” she finished lamely.

His face seemed to slacken, like he knew exactly what she was seeing. He swallowed. “Is it that bad?”

She closed her eyes. The music dimmed. The present dropped away. “It’s worse than you can ever imagine.”

The music overwhelmed them then, absconding their dance of sadness and Sirius swayed her back and forth. He asked her nonsensical questions, about her favourite book, favourite lesson, and Hermione was relieved for the small talk. It gave the dance substance, and stole his attention away from her terrible dancing. When he didn’t say anything for a while, Hermione frowned, looking up at him.

Sirius' eyes were locked on something behind her, skimming the top of her head. She felt the heat in them, singeing her hair.

"For fucks sake," he murmured.

"What?" Hermione asked curiously, and she stopped dancing to turn and look.

Sirius sighed, and he sounded more than irritable when he said, "When will they realise he's not fucking gay?"

She followed his gaze, and saw Remus sitting at a table. He was a bright pink, sipping from his glass awkwardly, as another boy sat beside him. From the way the boy kept leaning in and laughing, it didn't take a genius to figure out his intentions.

Sirius let go of Hermione, and a pleasant smile slid onto his face. She frowned at the sudden sight of it.

"Excuse me," he said, and he bowed before walking past her, striding over to where Remus was sitting.

Sirius didn't seem to care that he was imposing his presence on the two of them when he dropped down in the chair on Remus' other side.

He said pointedly, "Your girlfriend is over there. Don't worry, I haven't danced her feet to the bone. She's still good for a waltz or two."

At the mention of a girlfriend, the other boy froze and he muttered a hasty excuse before he shot up from his seat and weaved through the throng of people to get away from them.

"That was rude," said Remus.

Sirius didn't point out that the pinkness had gone down in his face, nor that he'd drunk the last of his Butterbeer and would've soon run out of distraction.

Instead, he shrugged. "You're welcome."

Remus and Sirius sat, side by side, staring out at the dance floor.

Sirius said, "I wasn't joking, you know. I kind of left Hermione stranded on her own to come and save you from that terribly awkward encounter. It was partly for myself as well- I was all but dying from second-hand embarrassment- but the least you could is dance with her."

“I’m not going to steal your date, Sirius,” said Remus dryly.

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no problem. I’m going to go find James to dance with, see if that plonker’s still moping about because the love of his life is not currently the love _in_ his life.”

Remus huffed a laugh, but he placed his glass down on the table regardless. Just before he left, he said earnestly, "Thank you."

Sirius didn't ask which thing he was grateful for. He just made a noncommittal sound, which Remus grinned at before he disappeared. Sirius watched him all the way.

“May I?” Remus asked, once he got close enough to her. He bowed his head, grinning shyly.

Hermione frowned. “Where’s Sirius?”

“He went, and I quote, ‘to see if that plonker is still moping about’.” She snorted, and Remus shook his head but he was smiling. “So is that a yes?”

“Why, I thought I’d have to pry you out of that chair!” laughed Hermione, accepting his hand. Remus’ grin stretched across his face as he manoeuvred her to stand in front of him. The song started.

“Alas, you probably would’ve had to,” said Remus. “I’m not overly keen on dances. How are you enjoying your first Hogwarts ball in the past so far though?”

She refrained from pulling a face. “It’s a tad tedious, I must admit.”

“Is Sirius that bad of a date?” He asked, sarcasm licking the frays of his voice. “You’ll have to inform him. This will be the first and, most likely, only negative feedback he’ll ever receive. If he’s lagging, you must let him know. It’s only fair.”

Hermione felt her smile grow and she poked his side. He grinned. They didn’t say anything else, just tried to dance in time with everyone else.

“Have you given much thought to… the future?” Remus asked uncomfortably. His hand was rigid on her waist, clammy in hers. Hermione smiled softly at him and took both of his arms and wrapped them around her waist. He wasn’t a natural dancer like Sirius, so she looped hers around his neck and they just swayed, stepping backwards and forwards and spinning when they felt like it. “I mean, this future. Ours.”

_Ours._

Hermione stared at the floor. It wasn’t that she hadn’t. She had. Of course she had! It was all she could think of; the hollowing uncertainty of whatever faced her. It leaked into her days and haunted her nights. In all honesty, she had thought of little else, of whether she should try to find a way back or fight for the future of those here.

_But it wasn’t her future to fight for-_

“No,” she lied, clearing her throat. “What about you? What do you want to do?”

Remus’ cheeks immediately went pink and he ducked his head. His voice was quiet. “I, erm, I’d quite like to be a teacher.”

A thrill, not unlike electricity, shot through her and she felt the happiness all over her body.

"You want to be a teacher?" Hermione asked, willing herself to bite back a smile.

He stepped towards her and she almost forgot to follow his lead. A small smile graced his washed out face and he closed his eyes briefly.

When he looked at her, Remus said, "Yes." He bit at his lip, tense. "I know it sounds ludicrous but I don't ever want to leave this place… It's the one place I've ever really belonged."

Hermione saw the pain in his eyes, raw and honest, and she smiled at him and said, "Professor R. J. Lupin. Has a ring to it, don't you think?"

Remus just stared at her. He looked as though he wanted to say something but eventually settled for, "You said the reason we feel so close is because I was your teacher..." He paused, swallowing. "I know you can't tell me but-"

"Remus," she met his eyes, lifting a finger up to his lips to silence him. He worried too much; it poured from his mouth too often. "You're the best teacher I've ever had."

Before he could say anything, Sirius was by their side. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Remus glanced at her. “Did James not want to dance with you?”

“ _No_ ,” he answered sulkily, pouting slightly at them. Remus reached out and flicked his thumb against Sirius’ fat lip. The latter jumped backwards, hitting his friend’s hand away and fixing him with an incredulous look. He shook himself. “But that’s not why I’m here!” A wicked smirk curled his lips. Remus and Hermione shared a look. Sirius put his arms around them both and said, “James is moping. Lily isn’t smiling…  _as_  brightly as she usually is. I think it’s time.

“ _Cue Operation Deerly Beloved_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Also I know this story has been focusing less on the war and changing the future than I promised at the moment, but it is, what I call, 'The Calm before the Storm.' I have so much planned for the second half of this story that I need to balance out the gritty stuff to come. Thank you so much for all your reviews!! I've never had that many on a single chapter before!! And please try not to be too negative, unless it's something I can work on. I'm new to all this!!


	41. Chapter 41- The Operation Deerly Beloved (oh deer!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY! I've had loads of mock-GCSE's lately (even though they're not until next year!!) so I haven't had any time to sit down and actually complete a chapter that I'm happy with. I just wrote little bits every now and then and finally, I've got this! It's not the best, but at least it's here aha!  
> To answer one of the reviews, no I haven't forgotten about Snape!! It's just been so busy lately, what with Avery and Regulus that whilst introducing key characters, I've had to sideline other people at the moment, but he is going to appear again at some point! Despite he dislike towards him, Hermione is not one to leave anyone behind. She's going to try and save him regardless, along with all her other little Slytherin children.  
> I also must formally apologise for the pun in the chapter title, although I feel no shame. I hope you enjoy it:)

** Chapter 41- The Operation Deerly Beloved (oh deer) **

 

The three of them stood by the table that their group had claimed, watching the dancefloor with three very different pairs of eyes. Hermione was nervous. Remus was hesitant. Sirius was keen, practically buzzing with eagerness. He kept checking his watch, and his lips twitched, desperate to split into a huge grin at what was in store.

Most people had retired to their tables to eat or rest their legs, but James was sulking nearby and Lily was still dancing with Bernie.

"Just to check,” Remus stated, glancing at Sirius, “the plan still doesn't involve murder?”

The latter hesitated.

Remus' eyes widened and he questioned in a low and warning voice, "Sirius?"

Sirius whined, spinning to face him. "It only ends in murder if he refuses to cooperate!"

Exasperated, Remus said, "Sirius, you're trying to set his girlfriend up with someone else! Of course he's not going to cooperate!"

"This isn't so much a plan as a timed procession of events," Hermione felt inclined to point out.

"Darling,” Sirius said patiently, “don't belittle the plan with your big words."

He patted her head. She huffed.

"Now," he continued, taking her hand and clasping something in her palm, before pushing her forwards. "You know what you have to do."

Hermione shot him an incredulous look, but her feet carried her away regardless. She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm drugging my best friends."

"It's not drugging!" Sirius whispered furiously. She glared at him and he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. "It's-"

"Substance manipulation! I know!" She finished for him. She rolled her eyes. "It's still drugging."

Sirius sighed. "It's drugging them with _love_!"

Remus' eyes narrowed as he mulled this over. He said, "I don't think that's how it works, Padfoot. I doubt you can validate everything you do by claiming you did it _'with love_.'"

Hermione winced, but nevertheless, continued what she was doing. The vial was cool and small in her hand, and the purple liquid swirled, in tune to the uncertainty settling in her stomach. And still, despite this, she felt a certain awe staring at the potion. The Marauders had made this, had brewed and perfected it. Anyone else, Hermione would've deemed that notion preposterous but with Sirius' avid procrastination to complete any real schoolwork, James' excitement, Remus' analytical mindset and Peter's encouragement, it became clearer as to how these four achieved anything they set their hearts to.

She reached the drinks table and collected two goblets of Butterbeer. Her hand shook as she poured a single drop of the potion into both drinks. The liquid fizzed, then went flat once more. Hermione slid the vial up her sleeve, picked up the goblets and cringed, before painting an easy smile on her face and making her way over to James.

"Do try not to look too depressed. You really do dampen the decorations," she commented lightly, taking the seat beside him.

He looked across at her, hazel eyes soft. "Hey Hermione."

"You should cheer up," she said, popping the goblet in front of him.

James frowned at it. He leaned forward to sniff it and recoiled, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What is that?"

"A refreshment," Hermione replied. "I figured you'd need it."

Her attention was snagged by a particular redhead and she stood up abruptly. Without really looking, she swooped down and kissed James on the head, and said, "Now, smile!" His lips curled on their own accord at the stern tone she had adopted. She beamed at him, patting his cheek before whisking off to her next target. She needed to be quick. Her hands were sweating. The sooner she could drug them both, the better.

"Lily!"

Hermione slipped through dancing couples, past girls being propelled out and boys leading. The redhead who was being twirled stopped and smiled radiantly at her.

"Hermione!"

Hermione flourishingly held the remaining goblet out and said, "I haven't seen you all night! And you've been dancing so I thought you might've needed a drink!"

Lily's face melted and a twinge of guilt shot through her as the other girl said, "Oh my, Hermione, thank you! That's so kind!"

Nevertheless, she took the goblet of Butterbeer. Behind her, Remus caught Hermione's eye, and he winked. She took this as the sign she was waiting for.

"Oh, have you tried the chocolate, Lily? Honestly, it's divine!" She gushed, taking Lily's free hand and turning to her date. He wasn't a tall boy, with chestnut brown hair and dark eyes. Despite not being ugly, Hermione could see the potato resemblance. She smiled sweetly, "You don't mind, do you?"

Bernie's eyes flicked to Lily and back but he conceded. "Of course not."

Hermione grinned, and dragged Lily off the dance floor, all but shoving her into Dorcas' arms who had only been instructed to distract Lily at all costs. "Oh look! Dorcas!"

The Ravenclaw instantly sparked a conversation up with Lily, quirking her eyebrow when Hermione nodded at her.

She hurried back over to Remus, who was slipping his wand into his pocket. "Done?" She asked.

He glanced at her. "Do you really have to ask?"

She shoved his arm lightly, eyes snagging on Sirius, who was dancing by himself across the dance floor to where Bernie was now standing alone. In his hand was a drink that he was swirling about. Although his movements were peculiar, and he seemed to be humming to himself, Hermione could see the caution in every step. He was surprisingly good at acting like he didn't have a care in the world, like he wasn't trying to destroy a Hufflepuff's love life.

Millimetres from where his foot touched the floor, she could see the sheen of ice. Remus had done a remarkable job. If she hadn't known, her eyes wouldn't have been able to differentiate between that and the rest of the dance floor.

Hermione and Remus stood beside one another, watching as the plan unfolded.

In theory, there was nothing intricate about it, but Sirius acted it out with a precision that showed his knack for mischief. He knocked into Bernie, and his drink slopped over the edge of the goblet and down the front of the poor boy’s dress robes, who stepped back instinctively... Onto the ice. Bernie went skidding backwards, arms flapping as he wildly tried to regain balance but it was futile. The ice that Remus had conjured to take up the middle portion of the floor was too slippery and Bernie’s legs were in the air in a second as he fell.

Sirius was there, however, and he stepped onto the ice, expecting Remus to have cleared it. Hermione looked at him, but it seemed that Remus wasn’t overly concerned with reversing the effects of his magic just yet, and Sirius slipped on the ice, eyes widening. He managed to stay upright and shot the two of them a glare. Remus simply quirked an eyebrow, but nevertheless obeyed.

"Bernie! My good man!" Sirius cried as soon as the slick sheen of ice had once more returned to the dull white of the dance floor, running over to the Hufflepuff, who was sprawled on his back. He kneeled beside him, dragging Bernie upright and gasped. "Oh dear, would you look at that!"

Blossoming down the boy's white shirt was a flower of Butterbeer, sticky and golden. Bernie's face flushed pink and he shrugged Sirius off, taking out his wand to clean himself.

" _No!_ No no no!" Sirius yelped, leaping forward. His fingers curled around his wand. "Don't do that!" Bernie eyed him suspiciously. "I tried that once. The silk was never the same! Better to change and let your mother wash it."

He helped Lily's date to his feet and proceeded to lumber him out of the Great Hall, proclaiming the entire way about how 'proper and prim will always win' and how girls, especially muggleborns like Lily, really appreciated knowing that a guy could handle himself without magic.

When the two disappeared from view, Hermione turned to Remus, grinning. "Well that was successful."

He shook his head. "Now comes the hard part."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Actually getting them to dance." He pointed at James, who looked to be drowning in boredom as he was re-enacting a Quidditch game with his food and utensils, and then to Lily, who had her back to them as Marlene animatedly told her and Dorcas a story.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I'll get him to dance."

She hitched the skirts of her dress up, and marched over to where their friend was sat, much to Remus' amusement. He called after her, “Very ladylike.”

She fixed him with a glare.

"James Fleamont Potter, you are dancing with me _right now_ whether you wish to or not!" She announced when she got close enough, hands on her hips.

He jumped at her sudden presence and loud voice, eyes wide. "What?"

"Get up!" She motioned for him to stand up. He didn't move. She repeated the gesture.

He remained sitting. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "If you don't get up, this gesture," she demonstrated, "will turn exceptionally rude indeed."

This she did not demonstrate. Instead, she smiled sweetly and offered her hand. James, eyeing her wearily, took it. Hesitation and apprehension was evident in every line of his face, but he got to his feet.

Viewing this as a triumph, Hermione started to lead him over to the dance floor but he tugged her back.

"Mione, I'm not sure I want to," James said, stoic in his position. He looked awkward. "I mean, go have fun without me-"

"Right. That's it!"

She adjusted her grip on him, dug her heels into the ground and pulled with all her might.

"Hermione!" James exclaimed in alarm, trying to pull away from her. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to dance with you!" She replied through gritted teeth. She now had both hands on his arm, attempting to drag him to no avail. He shuffled forwards a few inches but that was it. He really didn't look this strong. She regretted resorting to force.

James watched her incredulously. "Why?"

Hermione gave up. She threw her arms into the air and huffed. "Because tonight was most definitely a solid ten! But you are dragging that number down to a nine with your depressive, 'woe-is-me' mood! Now..." She took his hand once more, eyebrows raised, almost daring him to refuse. Her eyes flashed. "Stop moping and dance with me!"

James (albeit unwillingly) acquiesced to her demands. He stared at her, indecision clear in his eyes before he shook his head. Bowing, he said, "Whatever the lady wishes."

She beamed, swiftly manoeuvring him so he couldn't change his mind. The song had already started so she simply positioned his arms around her and swung them into the flow of the current dancing couples.

It was upbeat and fast and Hermione found that she couldn't stop laughing. She tried to maintain her etiquette, chin poised, shoulders back, but the dance was more folky than classical and she just looked foolish. James mimicked her and the two of them bounced around, kicking their legs out and letting their happiness pour from their lips, and shine from their faces like sunbeams.

The song fizzled out and James bowed again, prompting Hermione to curtsy theatrically. They were both panting and grinning like idiots.

They didn't move for a second, too physically exhausted to, so they just stood there, catching their breath.  James was staring at something. She followed his gaze.

"She's stood alone now," Hermione pointed out. James swallowed.

"So?"

She rolled her eyes. "So," she said. "You should ask her. In fact, no, you shouldn't ask her. You will ask her. Right now. This instant. Now."

James stared at her as if she'd gone crazy. He looked back at Lily.

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

Exasperated, Hermione said, "Really? _Really?!_ Out of all of the ideas you've ever heard- the majority of which derived from Sirius' mind!- this ranks as a bad one?"

He bit his lip. "Hermione, it's not as simple as that."

Hermione took his hand. " _Then make it simple_."

James stared at her.

Then, in a startling second, he walked away, straight over to Lily. There was determination swelling in the set of his shoulders and his signature swagger was absent. He said something. Hermione watched. He held out his hand. She waited...

Lily took it.


	42. Chapter 42- The Operation Part 2 (oh deer, OH DEER)

 

"Don't look so smug," Remus said.

Hermione was sat at the table, eyes locked on the dancing couple, lips curled softly. Beside her, Remus was eating spotted dick, something he had grudgingly accepted for desert, and he had sighed that Sirius was going to be far too pleased this Christmas.

She looked at him, eyes wide. "I'm not smug."

"Yes you are," Remus raised an eyebrow. "I can feel it coming off you. It's suffocating."

She shot him an exasperated look. Hermione said, "I'm not! I'm just happy." She swallowed. "And slightly nervous."

Remus frowned, his mouth full of cake. He cocked his head, silently questioning her.

“What if-?” She broke off. “What if us interfering doesn’t help them? What if the potion runs out and they hate each other again?”

Her stomach fluttered. It was so much more than meddling for an hour. It was so much more than a prank, or a plan or an operation or whatever Sirius had decided to call it! These was Harry’s parents! Hermione felt herself falter. Watching as James twirled Lily out, and they both laughed before curling into one another again, she thought about how, here in front of her, at the Christmas ball of 1977, Harry’s existence was a crackling possibility; a flicker of the future. She wondered whether this was where Harry Potter truly began; at a ball where two teenagers danced, forgetting everything but one another.

Remus finished chewing, eyes boring into her, and he said earnestly, "I've known them both for seven years now. I've watched James love her for four. I will never see two people more meant for each other than Lily and James.”

Hermione nodded. There was something about the way he said it, maybe the underlying softness that was always present in his voice or the conviction in his eyes, that had her believing it too.

She tore her gaze away, just in time to see a grinning Sirius bounding through the doors. The top few buttons on his shirt had come undone and he was a sweet pink. He sought them out, eyebrows quirking when he found them, and made his way over.

“I tell you, that Bernie boy is one hell of a-” he stopped. “Is that spotted dick?”

Remus closed his eyes. He looked to be in pain.

Hermione watched, biting back a smile, as a gleefully manic grin broke across Sirius’ face. His arms shot up, pumping the air and he announced, finger pointed in Remus’ face, “I told you! I told you that one of these days they’d _have_ to serve spotted dick! They’d simply _have_ to!”

“Alright Merlin, let’s not get too carried away,” Remus replied sarcastically, smacking Sirius’ finger away. He pushed his bowl forward, pudding half-eaten. It seemed his friend’s gloating had satisfied his appetite.

Sirius sobered up, sitting down and pulling the bowl towards him. He looked at Remus. “Are you done?”

When he nodded, Sirius dived into the sponge cake, still evidently ecstatic. Then his expression froze. His mouth opened and the mush that was the spotted dick tumbled out of it. He shook his head. “That was not what I expected. That was not nice.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose, swatting him. “That’s disgusting.”

Having been wiping at his tongue with his napkin, Sirius pulled a face and said, “Speaking of disgusting, how’re the lovebirds?”

She nodded in their direction and said quietly, “You tell me.”

His eyes followed and she noticed his entire face soften slightly, the tips of his lips curl upwards. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “I told you it would all work out. My plans always work out.”

Hermione stared at him.

The song ended, and she looked to see if they were going to dance again, but James was headed straight for her. His eyes were glinting, his mouth was open and wide in a huge smile. He pulled her up off the chair, wrapped his arms around her and spun her in the air. She squealed.

"Thank you," James said, when he put her down.

“Where’s my spin and cuddle of gratitude?” Sirius demanded indignantly.

He cried out, and she could only assume that Remus had punched him.

Hermione ignored them, "Um, for what, exactly?"

He smiled, raising his eyebrows. "Just thank you," he repeated, then narrowed his eyes. "Although I don't appreciate the fact you tried to drug me!"

Her eyes widened and she stared at him. _He knew!_ Glancing at Sirius, she said pointedly, “Would you like to take this?”

Sirius sucked his lips in and said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve come to the conclusion that I no longer require a spin and cuddle of gratitude. This one’s on you, my dear.”

Tilting her head in a warning gesture that clearly said ‘ _thanks’_ , she licked her lips. "It's- it's not drugging... It’s substance manipulation... with love," she attempted, her voice high, sounding like a deer caught in headlights.

James looked at her as if she were stupid. “Did you really just quote Sirius?”

Sirius cringed from next to them. Remus scoffed. She frowned, folding her arms and changed the subject. "What do you mean _'tried?_ '"

James gave her another look. He asked, "Did you really think I wouldn't be able to smell my own love potion? I created it too, remember."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "So does that mean you didn't drink it?"

"Nope."

She opened her mouth to say something but paused, and her lips formed unintelligible words. Eventually, she blinked at him and managed to get out, "Excuse me."

Vaguely, she heard Remus saying, “How could we possibly forget that variable?”

Sirius said in mild frustration, “Why does everyone say it’s drugging? It’s not drugging. It’s spiking- there is a distinct difference-!”

He cried out once more. This time, James had punched him.

Hermione picked up her skirts and made a direct beeline for a certain redhead, who was stood with Marlene again. Without so much as an explanation, she burst out, "Lily, did you have the drink I gave you?"

Lily's expression, which had morphed abruptly from pleasantly surprised to a bewildered frown, bored into Hermione, who was bouncing on her feet.

"Erm," Lily bit her lip, trying to remember. "No. No, I didn't. I went to get some chocolate and left it at the table. Hermione, why-?"

But she didn't have change to finish her sentence for Hermione had launched herself at her, hugging her close. When she pulled away, the smile on her face was almost scary. Relief was heavy and thick in her voice as Hermione said, "That means I didn't drug you! Oh, thank God!"

There was a second of silence as Lily processed this, before she raised her eyebrows and said in a low voice, "You tried to drug me?"

"And James!" Hermione added, thinking this would soothe the redhead. She was wrong. "That doesn't make it any better," she realised. "It was Sirius' idea! I was an unwilling hostage in their stupidity and I was vehemently against drugging you!"

Lily's eyes were wide. "You still tried to drug me!"

"Tried being the key word there-"

"Hermione!"

She paused, thinking back to the conversation with the boys about the operation. Wincing, Hermione said, "But what kind of friend would I be if I hadn't spiked your drink with a love potion and you'd lived to the sorry old age of 102, and ultimately died alone?"

“That sounds like something Sirius would say,” Marlene commented. An amused expression drifted across her pretty face. “Did you seriously just quote Sirius?”

Hermione shrugged, wincing.

Lily's face turned incredulous. She ignored them both as she said, " _A good one?!_ I can't believe you even entertained one of Sirius' ideas, never mind acted it out!" She put her hands on her hips. "You know one of them ended in homicide?"

Hermione cringed. She opened her mouth to retaliate and say that he didn't actually _execute_ that part of the plan, when James interrupted, "Seeing as Lily looks like she's going to explode, I’m going to steal her away and spin some of her fury out of her."

He took hold of the redhead's hand and led her away.

"Only some?" Hermione pressed.

James called over his shoulder, "Yes, only some. I'm still pissed off with you all as well!"

“What about Sirius and Remus?” She demanded.

“They already know what’s in store for them.”

Marlene took a sip of her drink and said, “Where’s dear Bernie gone anyway? He was easy on the eyes, it would be a shame to waste him.”

Hermione just stared at her. She made her way back over to Remus, who was still sat at their table which was strangely quiet. She frowned. “Where did Sirius go?”

“He saw Pete and went to beg him for protection against James,” he replied nonchalantly.

Hermione scoffed, standing beside him, and putting her hand on the back of his chair. “So you’ve already heard James’ threat?”

“Of course,” Remus replied, reaching up to hold her hand, his thumb stroked the grooves of her knuckles. She felt her face heat up. “He never makes good of them though. With James, he’s all bark and no bite.” He paused, adding with a wry smirk, “Or all bleat and no barge, I suppose.”

Hermione had to bite back a snort at this. She hadn’t yet told them that she knew about their animal forms. She interlocked their fingers, coaxing him to his feet and said, “Speaking of bleating, Remus, I-”

The bell tower chimed, signalling midnight. Beside her, Remus stole a deep breath. She didn't know where it started, but suddenly, from one corner of the hall, white spider webs of ice formed, stretching out and growing, shooting to form icicles and covering every single inch of wall and floor and ceiling. Her sentence trickled from her open lips. It was like watching an explosion in slow motion, Hermione thought, unable to fathom anything more. The impact spread out slowly, reaching for tables and chairs and trees and engulfing them whole. Everything was freezing over and it was beautiful. Snow started to fall from the ice-captured ceiling, flakes that caught in her hair and stuck to the golden lace of her dress. Hermione brought her hand up and the snowflakes simply landed on her finger, never melting, like white skeletal butterflies. She looked at Remus in awe. He was watching her.

Something flew past her ear, and she spun to follow it with her eyes. The fairies and Christmas decorations were dissolving into to life, flying over to Lily and James, singing harmoniously.

Lily was staring around her, cheeks tinged a bright pink, unable to believe what she was seeing. James didn’t look like he could see anything but Lily.

"I thought we were only drugging them!" Hermione gasped, her eyes flitting around the hall, absorbing the beauty that had blossomed.

Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. "Well we had to set the mood."

Snow was still falling, the ice had conquered everything. The Great Hall had become a wintry kingdom. She could only whisper, "It's beautiful."

His eyes never strayed from her face. "Yeah, it truly is."

A whoop of euphoria attracted both of their attentions and Sirius appeared, happiness practically pulsing from him. He took hold of Remus' hand, twirling him around. Hermione just laughed and he grinned at her, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her hand. He bounced her around the hall, belting out Christmas hymns at the top of his voice. People were staring, Remus was smiling, Hermione could only laugh.

"Sirius!" She beamed, looking at him. He stopped, still holding her, mouth still stretched in a wide and euphoric grin. His eyes sparkled with youth, his cheeks were flushed with something other than spiked Butterbeer. She faltered imperceptibly. Hermione breathed, "I'm glad I fell on you."

His smile softened.

Suddenly, the ice cracked. The sky mirage above them crackled and sparked, draining of all its glorious colour to a deep and dark grey. The fairies froze in their flight, withering and falling to the floor. One fell onto their table and Hermione stared at it, horror creeping through her veins, eyes locked on its wings; the same wings that had once been ethereal were now dead and twitching. Every candle in the hall was blown out, and that same wind ghosted down her spine. Sirius’ hold on her tightened.

She could hear a few mumbles, but they were quickly silenced by a flash of brilliant light, whipping out into the midst of the dancefloor. Hermione watched, equally entranced and terrified, as the light twisted and morphed, forming faceless monsters and nameless shapes.

The hologram swam before them, a globe of incorporeal light and she could feel the breath catch in her throat. It was so familiar. The edges flickered, but there was something so _real_ about it. An image formed and a distant screech erupted from it. The light swirled to form people fleeing, turning and running from something horrifying. They were like white wisps, but their fear was palpable. And then Hermione saw the shadows. Black figures hunted them, shooting strands of green and, one by one, the lights fell.

“What is this?” Sirius murmured, his voice cracked.

Hermione could only whisper. “It’s an attack.”

Someone screamed.

Hermione’s head whipped in the direction to see a girl collapse, falling to her knees on the other side of the hall. Her hands clutched her head, and the screams that tore from her throat were murderous. Someone else, on the other side of the hall, began screaming as well. Soon, there was a chorus of anguish, echoing, thrumming inside of her skull as more and more people screamed.

Hermione didn’t even have to guess. She knew what this was, knew _who_ this was…

_“It’s Voldemort!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets dark guys... I'm so sorry!!


	43. Chapter 43- The Vessel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SO GOOD TO YOU! THREE CHAPTERS IN TWO DAYS?!?!? YOU GUYS ARE SO LUCKY I'M FEELING NICE!  
> Please review! I really want to know what you think!!

The manifestation played on repeat, and she watched as the light figures were struck down. The bottom of the globe oozed red, and it looked like real blood that dripped onto the floor. And then the blood started pouring, more and more of it. The crowd had already parted, retreating to the edges of the hall in frigid fear, but the pool of blood prompted them to try and move further away. It didn’t act like blood. In fact, it was something more sinister than they realised.

The blood gathered together before snaking away. It was like a serpent of the deepest red, hissing and flicking its forked tongue out to thrive off the terror in the air. Hermione watched it, trepidation making her body heavy. Somehow, she knew what it was doing before anyone else did. It curled across the floor, ignoring every other student. The blood started chanting something.

“What’s it saying?” She heard Remus ask. He had appeared at Sirius’ side, and was holding onto his wrist tightly.

Hermione didn’t say anything, but tried to focus on the chanting. It was like a skin-crawling hiss that came from deep within her.

_“Kairos.”_

She watched the snake incredulously, a sliver of dread incapacitating her.

_“Kairos, Kairos, Kairos.”_

The blood slithered its way closer and she knew, even as Sirius inhaled sharply, and Remus tried to pull her back, that the snake was coming for her.

The silence of the hall threatened to crush her. Nothing else existed. There was nothing else to the world except her and the blood. It started to speak, whispering to her, in _his_ voice, “I see you. I know you have been hiding from me but I see you now… You can try to hide. You can try to run. But I will find you. _And I will destroy you.”_

 **“Finite Incantatum!”** A booming voice cut through the screams and white noise. Hermione didn’t look up. She just stared at the serpent, watching as the blood lost its shape and splashed to the floor, staining the hem of her dress. It was warm and thick on her feet. The globe of light vanished in a second.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, I’m afraid tonight will have to be cut short,” Dumbledore announced. His voice was commanding and left no room for discussion. He seemed to just appear, like one minute he was absent and the next, he was there. Just like always. “You are all to return to your dormitories. Anyone caught out of bed will receive strict punishment.”

With another flick of his wand, every candle reignited and even as the hall was once more bathed in light, it felt colder than before, more distant. The students wasted no time in rushing to the doors, fleeing back to their Common Rooms. Hermione couldn’t even move.

“Mione?” Sirius prompted, his fingers tickled her wrist. “Hermione, we need to go. Come on, let’s go.”

He tugged her, and she stumbled forward, but the action snapped her out of her mind. She looked at him. The river of people pulsed past them, and desperation was pungent in the air.

Remus said, “Should we wait for James and Peter?”

Sirius shook his head, dragging him forward. “No. We’ll just meet them at the Common Room. We need to get out of here.”

The three of them weaved their way through the frenzied crowed, ducking under outstretched arms and sidestepping couples. Everyone was too shaken to really notice. A few people were crying.

“How did that even happen?” Remus asked. His voice was a hushed, urgent whisper.

“What was it, would be the more appropriate question, don’t you think?” Sirius murmured.

Hermione didn’t reply. There was something so familiar about the whole thing, something unnerving.

“Hermione?” Remus said. He was watching her closely.

She swallowed, stopping. “It was Voldemort,” she said. They both faltered.

“What?”

“He’s done this before, I’m sure of it.” She started walking again and this time, there was something defiant in her step. The words flowed from her mouth, and she led the two of them through the crowd, talking in as quiet a voice as possible. “It was a message, a threat. He wants us to know he has power, and that he’s not afraid to use it… That he _will_ use it.”

“You’re sure?” Sirius questioned faintly. “You’re sure it was definitely him?”

Hermione glanced back at him. Their eyes met. The word burnt her tongue but it was absolute. “Positive.”

Suddenly, a hand on her shoulder made her whip around. Professor McGonagall, looking weary and forcibly stern, was stood behind her. “The Headmaster wishes to see you, Miss Granger.”

Sirius appeared at her side in an instance. “I’m going too.”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, eyeing him with a tiredness Hermione thought stemmed from something far greater than the lateness of the hour. She said, “Sirius, your presence was not requested. Please return to your dormitory. You too, Mr Lupin.”

Hermione turned to them both. “It’s fine,” she assured. “It will be something about the future, that’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sirius’ shoulders relaxed slightly and he gave her a curt nod, reaching up to cup her shoulder with his hand. Remus didn’t look convinced. Hermione wasn’t even sure whether she believed herself.

oOoOoO

The bottom of her dress was still stained in blood. She stared at it.

Hermione was sat in the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, waiting as the old wizard searched for something in his office. She wanted him to say something. As stupid as it sounded, she wanted him to tell her that it would all be okay. If this was the beginning of the First Wizarding War, she didn’t want to spend it sitting in the security of Hogwarts, she wanted to fight it because she knew how this ended.

This would end with a little child orphaned in his crib, his freshly carved lightning scare throbbing. This would end with the bodies of a girl, as beautiful as her namesake and as sweet and kind as one could be, and of a boy, with a heart of gold and the love as ferocious as a lion’s roar. This would end in anguish, in pain and heartbreak for the most precious people this world had to offer. This would end with the world shattering. This would end with a bang.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the blood of her dress. The gold had been splattered with red and it made her sick; Gryffindor had never repulsed her this much.

"You're not safe here," Dumbledore said in a low voice. He seemed frenzied, in the muted way he reacted. He was too quiet, too minimalistic… but that frightened her even more.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her head snapped up. "What do you mean I'm not safe here? Hogwarts," she faltered. "It's the safest place there is-"

"He knows someone is here from the future."

Her breath caught in her lungs, as she stared at him. How was that even possible? They had been so careful! The only people she had told were her Marauders!

A sickening thought trickled through her mind but she discarded it before she could truly ponder on its probability. No, he wasn't gone yet. She refused to believe the puppy-like boy she had grown to care for, to love, with the lopsided dressing over one side of his head, was in league with Voldemort.

It was not too late for Peter.

Hermione swallowed and forced herself to ask, "What?"

Dumbledore was busy trying to find something, dragging books from his shelves and flicking through the pages. His hands looked to be shaking. "I've seen this spell used once before. It's a spirit incantation. For it to work, the spell must be channelled through a living entity with enough magic to contain it." He stopped momentarily, attention snagging on something else, before continuing, "The magic manifests inside the vessel, like a part of a soul, a memory, and when it plays, the vessel gets drained. Miss Granger," Dumbledore turned and looked at her then, "if I am correct... then that can only mean that it came from the inside."

_Like a part of a soul._

It struck her then why the globe of light had seemed so familiar to her. It was like the manifestation of the Horcrux, when Voldemort’s soul had fought for dominance. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up; she was far too acquainted with Tom Riddle’s soul for her liking.

Hermione tried to clear her head of any panic, so she could help. Her skull throbbed. Fright threatened to consume her. She remembered the heaviness that the locket had burdened her with, the difficulty it had presented to simply hold it, the impact it had had on Ron. "So that means the 'vessel' would have to be powerful, yes? For them to be able to carry and then release this memory."

Dumbledore nodded, returning to his searching. "And the difficulty of the spell means that the vessel will be drained, weak. Potentially just before and most certainly after."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but froze, her suggestion dying on her lips. For at that moment, a thought had rooted itself deep within her, poisoning her. She looked at him heavily. “How does he know?”

Distractedly, Dumbledore said, “Pardon?”

She felt her face strain. Her heart beat so hard she feared it would shatter her bones. She was scared he would hear it. “How does he know I’m from the future?”

Dumbledore blinked. “Why, because there is an inside man, Miss Granger. A spy, if you will.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. There was something strange about the whole thing. “How do _you_ know he knows?” A frown pulled her eyebrows together. “How can you possibly know that Voldemort knows about me?”

He hesitated. He didn’t say anything. Hermione stared at him. Something swelled deep within her, that same feeling she had gotten when she had seen him for the first time in this period.

He was just the same. He was the very same dictator he had been back in her year, raising Harry for slaughter. He knew all the tricks of the game and he was sliding everyone around the board to exactly where he needed them.

Hermione stood up and left the room.

The castle was unerringly quiet, and she walked quickly, with her head down and dress hitched up. The voice of Voldemort slithered through her mind as she tried to remember everything he said, but there was nothing- nothing!- that hinted he knew! All he had said was that he was going to find her. But there must have been more! What else did he say? She was so absorbed in this musing that when turning the next corner, she collided into something hard. A shriek evaded piercing the air when a hand clamped down on her mouth, silencing her. Hermione did the first thing she could think of; she bit down hard.

A breathless groan sounded close to her ear and she leapt away, wand out in an instance. “Lumos!”

Avery’s reproachful eyes stared back at her. Hermione lowered her wand instinctively.

"You scared me half to death! What are you doing here?" She asked, alarmed.

He glanced down at his hand and said calmly, “You bit me.”

She jabbed her wand at him. “You frightened me!” Her heart was still erratic in her chest from the scare he'd given her. Suspicion quickly kidnapped her body, but she tried to control her voice and she forced herself to sound casual as she asked, “What are you doing out in the corridors?”

"I was just wandering," he replied. Her eyes flicked to his side, which he was gripping tightly (inconspicuously). "I couldn't sleep."

In a low voice, Hermione said, "I don't think any of us will be able to sleep tonight."

The serpent still haunted her mind. She shook her head. He didn’t reply, and she took this time to examine him. He looked even more distraught than when she had seen him at the ball, with pale and waxy skin, almost like he had been drained. Dark smudges framed his face. His eyes seemed to glow in the shadows of the night.

Hermione couldn't help but feel concern gnaw at her. "Are you sure you're okay?" She pressed, moving towards him.

"I'm fine!" He snapped. She stopped. Then, in a gentler voice, he said, "Just dandy."

She stared at him.

_‘The difficulty of the spell means that the vessel will be drained, weak. Potentially just before and most certainly after.’_

He stared right back.

“I need to know,” she said in a low voice. “I need to know whether you meant it.”

There was silence. Avery’s eyes flicked to the floor. His face didn’t change. “You ruined the dress.”

Hermione watched him turn and walk away down the corridor, merging into the darkness. She wanted to call after him, to shake him and just ask him straight! Her mind was racing. _No._ She wouldn’t consider it. Not after everything she knew… But, thinking about their interactions, mulling over every little thing Avery had ever said, Hermione wasn’t sure she knew him at all.

She turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction.

The Eagle granted her access with no need for a password, and she barely waited for the stairs to move, stepping up them quickly. Hermione didn’t bother knocking at the top.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore seemed startled at her appearance. He had moved in the short period of time between now and her previous departure, and was now stood next to Fawkes. His long fingers stroked the smooth ridge of the bird’s back.

Hermione couldn’t help but be transfixed by it. The beauty of the bird melted away any loathing for her professor.

“Can I help you?” He asked politely. She jumped.

"I was just wondering, sir,” she rushed out. It didn’t help that her haste had rendered her breathless. “Would the vessel have to be willing, or could Voldemort plant the memory inside of someone without their consent? Are you sure this means..." She forced herself to continue. "Are you sure this means one of our own is affiliated with him?"

There was a hopefulness that she had to tamper down. She didn't know if she could bear the truth.

Dumbledore eyed her curiously. "No," he said. "I believe consent is crucial."

He regarded her for a moment and then added, "Why, Miss Granger? Do you know anything about this?"

She thought about how oddly he had been acting, how shifty and almost scared his disposition was. He was drained, tried, smudged.

But she also thought about the pleading look in his eyes when he had asked her to drop the conversation of his wellbeing, the note that had all but begged her to save him…

Hermione opened her mouth and paused. Her throat went dry. "No, sir."

Avery’s name never even touched her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the starting point for Hermione. This is where our golden girl is going to realise that she can't rely on Dumbledore to help her change the world.


	44. Chapter 44- The Mother

** Chapter 44- The Mother **

 

They stood in Dumbledore's office the following morning.

Professor McGonagall had collected them straight after breakfast, which had been a tired and tense affair. No one had really seemed to know how to react and so, the school had eaten in silence, with the odd half-hearted murmur. When their Head of House had come to collect them, Hermione had felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach.

It sank even lower as she had marched the five of them along corridor after corridor to finally reach Dumbledore's office. James had noticed. He'd twigged on about the fourth corridor and had slipped his hand into hers. Hermione found it a comforting reminder- she knew what the gesture meant: _you're not alone in this._

"As you are all no doubt aware," Dumbledore said, eyes raking across all of them. He was sat behind his desk, fingers interlocked. They stood solemnly. "Last night, Hogwarts hosted an attack from Lord Voldemort."

Peter squeaked. James' hand tightened in hers. Sirius went a deathly pallor. The office was silent, and not even Fawkes seemed brave enough to break it.

"I cannot let you stay here, under the... special circumstances apparent. Therefore, the only logical thing for me to do is to send you all home a week early for the holidays," Dumbledore continued. Hermione froze, but it had the opposite effect on her friends. James visibly melted, his worry slipping away from him; she almost felt the whoosh of relief in the air. "You'll be staying with the Potters' until this next week is over. I have already discussed the arrangement and they know not to let you leave, unsupervised, before then. This is for your own safety. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at him. She felt sick. Could Dumbledore truly not see how transparent he was? She knew exactly what he was doing and his twinkling blue eyes bored into her. Did he really think that she couldn't see what he was doing, why he was doing it? If he thought he could lock her up, under the guise of protection, whilst he crafted his own little plan against Voldemort, then he was deeply underestimating her.

Hermione Granger was not someone to be underestimated.

Remus didn't really say anything, just stared at their Headmaster, that little frown of puzzlement creasing his face.

James asked incredulously, "You're putting me on house arrest in my _own house_?"

Dumbledore said, "It's not house arrest, Mr Potter. It's for your protection."

"Is this about Hermione?" Peter asked, his voice small. They all looked at him.

He appeared washed out and the bandage covering his eye slipped down to reveal the scratches. She wondered whether he always looked this weary... But she found she couldn't remember. He shoved it back up. "The message from-" Hermione swallowed, watching his tongue struggle with the name. Finally, he choked, "You-Know-Who. It was for Hermione wasn't it? He knows she's from the future."

Something rippled across the five of them, like some sort of deeper understanding. It was always Peter who clicked before anyone else. Remus understood strategy, but Peter understood _people_.

It was part of the reason they were all friends, you never had to explain yourself to him, he just got it.

“That’s why you’re sending us away,” Remus realised. “Because we’re the only people who know about her.”

Dumbledore ducked his head in a small nod.

“As far as anyone is concerned, you returned home to see your parents,” he continued, changing the subject. “Sirius and James' mother took regretfully ill overnight and they were alerted right away. Remus' aunt died of Measles and poor Peter did not want to be left alone, so I granted his early departure." Dumbledore looked at her. "I hope you understand, Miss Granger, that your safety is my priority at this moment in time. It will not be forever, but Hogwarts has been infiltrated." His voice was heavy and sad when he said finally, "I'm afraid our home is no longer safe."

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

The floo power felt heavy in her hand.

Dumbledore had directed them to Professor McGonagall’s office with a bid of farewell, telling them that they were to leave immediately using her fireplace. He had lifted the wards but would reinforce them once they had gone.

So the five of them stood alone in the small office, sifting floo power through their fingers.

“I can’t believe we’re going home,” Sirius said, staring at the grate.

“It’s not what he says though,” Remus replied, his knuckle tracing the shape of his lips. “There’s something more to it, something he’s not telling us.”

Hermione couldn’t tear her attention away from the floo power, cupped in both of her hands. Her throat felt unbelievably tight. “There is.”

She felt their eyes drag to her.

James frowned, “What?”

Swallowing, Hermione finally looked at them all. Indecision was heavy in her, but she had to tell them. They were her best friends, the only people she had in this time. She said, “Dumbledore thinks… that there’s someone on the inside.”

The effect was instantaneous. Peter shrank away, James’ frown deepened, Sirius’ head shot to her.

“Someone on the inside? Like an undercover man?” Remus questioned.

“Like a spy,” she nodded. “Like a Death Eater.”

Sirius shook his head furiously, stalking away. “I bet it’s Snape. Godric knows that little snake is dancing with the devil!”

James moved over to his pacing friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sirius visibly relaxed as soon as James touched him. He said, “Why? Why would he think that?”

Hermione’s eyes flicked to the door. She heard a click. When she turned back to her boys, Remus had his wand out. He nodded at her.

“The spell that was used was one that Dumbledore had seen before. Apparently, it needed a vessel. Someone to actually carry it around and unleash it," Hermione said. "That means that there’s got to be someone in Hogwarts.”

“Not necessarily,” James said. “Surely You-Know-Who could’ve planted it?”

“No,” Hermione said, feeling her throat clench up. “The vessel has to give consent.”

There was a moment where the four of them absorbed this.

Peter asked timidly, “Does Dumbledore know who it is?”

_He looked even more distraught than when she had seen him at the ball, with pale and waxy skin, almost like he had been drained. Dark smudges framed his face. His eyes seemed to glow in the shadows of the night._

_Hermione couldn't help but feel concern gnaw at her. "Are you sure you're okay?" She pressed, moving towards him._

_"I'm fine!" He snapped. She stopped. Then, in a gentler voice, he said, "Just dandy."_

She shook her head, clearing her throat loudly. “We should probably go now. Dumbledore won’t give us very long before he puts up the wards.”

In silent agreement, they all gathered around the stone fireplace, feeling equal parts happy and sad. The heaviness of betrayal lay active in their bones, and yet they couldn’t escape the relief that leaving school evoked. James scooped some floo powder out of the bowl and said, “I’ll go first, best warn them of the riffraff to follow.”

He stepped into the grate, grin wide and youth-splattered. His eyes were positively sparkling. “See you on the other side,” he said and proclaimed, “Potter Manor.”

The flash of light was brilliant and James was immersed in the flames.

“You should go next, Mione,” Sirius said. “So you don’t get lost. I’ll follow you.”

She nodded, stepping into the grate. It wasn’t the first time she had ever used floo power, although it was most certainly not her preferred method of travel. Much like broomsticks, she wasn’t overly fond of being sucked through space. Come to think of it, she had never liked planes much either.

Hermione clenched the powder in her fist, smiled once at Peter, who was watching her nervously, before announcing, (and making sure to properly annunciate her ‘P’), “Potter Manor!”

The light engulfed her whole. It was such a strange experience, like apparating, but bumpier. The journey wasn’t very long, as the network had already connected to the Potter household as a result of James’ travel.

Hermione rolled out of a grate in no time, spluttering and wafting the black soot from the air. She clambered to her feet, shoving her hair from her face and looked around.

The kitchen was quaint but grand. With high ceilings and windows that let all the sunlight pour into the room, it was encompassed in golden brick. A long table stretched down the centre, with a vase of yellow flowers resting on its surface, and beside the fireplace, which she had just stepped out of, was a bottle green leather chair. Dotted around were picture frames and personal knickknacks, and Hermione let her eyes follow their trail; there was a photograph of a small James zooming about on a toy broomstick, and another of a kind-looking woman holding a baby, and another of Sirius, beaming and bursting with happiness and pride, with an older man’s arm around his shoulders.

Hermione felt herself smile softly.

The fireplace coughed, and an equally choked Sirius stumbled from the ash. He thumped his chest. His face lit up when he saw her and he said, “Glad to see you didn’t get lost, poppet!”

“You are not on house arrest, James,” an exasperated voice echoed from nearby. Indistinguishable murmurs followed, but Hermione couldn't properly hear them. Both she and Sirius stared at the door. An older woman, in her late forties, bustled into the kitchen, wearing a flowery white dress. Her dark hair was streaked with grey and she had petals woven into her braid.

"James, I don't know what kind of woman you take me for, but this is hardly necessary," she was saying. Her voice was rich and lulling, and gave the impression of both knowledge and wealth. "I'm not going to hassle your new friend!"

She paused in the kitchen, catching sight of Hermione.

Hermione smiled.

The lady immediately beamed, flying over and embracing her as though she was her own daughter. Hermione felt herself falter a little bit... She had forgotten what a mother's touch felt like.

"You must be Hermione!" She said, stepping back. Her hands cupped her shoulders still. The older woman's face was ripe as she smiled at her. "I've heard so much about you. All James does in his letters is gush about you! I was beginning to think he'd moved on from Lily!"

James coughed awkwardly from behind her. "Mum..."

Mrs Potter's lips curled in a small smirk.

"I don't think he's ever going to move on from Lily," Sirius said, grinning.

Her eyes trailed past Hermione and softened.

"My baby!" She beamed, reaching out for Sirius. As soon as she wrapped her arms around him, he seemed to melt, collapse, into her. Hermione felt like she was watching something far too intimate and thought she should probably look away. Mrs Potter held the back of Sirius' head and his chin rested on her shoulder. He had to bend down quite a bit and his eyes were closed in blissful contentment.

She pulled away, cupping his cheeks in her hands and said, "I hope you've been behaving."

Sirius flashed her a dazzling smile. "Of course."

The fireplace stuttered once more and Peter rolled out onto the wooden floor, grappling with his bandage. He scrambled to his feet. His blonde hair was laced with soot, and his cheeks were pink. His wide eyes caught Hermione’s and he shook his head wildly, grinning. She snorted.

"Peter! Oh my, what have you done?" Mrs Potter asked, touching his bandage gently. "Come here, let me sort that out for you."

Her long fingers lifted the bandage out of the way, and she touched the scars. Hermione watched in awe as the scratches simply disappeared.

"Ma trained to be a Healer," said Sirius, who had come to stand by her side.

Peter grinned, reaching up to touch the smooth skin of his forehead. "Thanks Mrs P!"

One final time, the fireplace coughed and wretched and out tumbled a dazed-looking Remus.

"Remus, dear, so nice of you to join us!" Mrs Potter smiled at him.

He blinked and said, "Hello ma'am."

She turned to look at the five of them, and said, "I've prepared a bedroom for each of you. I'm sure James or Sirius will give you a tour of the house, Hermione. I've raised them to be chivalrous after all." Hermione caught James' eye and he winked at her. "Off you go now. And please remember, Hermione... this is home."

Hermione stared at Mrs Potter, devouring her earnest eyes and loving smile and she tasted the word _home_. She had not had one of those in a long time.

 

**oOoOoOo**

Later that night, after a tour of the house (it had turned out to be just as homely and grand as the kitchen) and a three course meal where Remus had practically exploded in delight at the amount of chocolate there was in the pudding, they had let their tiredness catch up with them.

The five of them sat in the living room, wrapped in blankets and warming themselves up in front of the sizzling fire.

Hermione, with her stomach full and her heart light, could not remember ever feeling this content.

"It's good to be home," Sirius said, scratching his chin. He had had a small smile on his face ever since they had first arrived, and his eyes looked happier than ever.

"Yeah..." James agreed, but he didn't look particularly enthusiastic.

Remus picked up on this. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Please. Don't be too happy, Prongs, it's tiring."

James shot him a look.

"What's wrong?" Pete asked, frowning. He had a mug of hot chocolate gripped between his small hands, sitting beside Hermione on the settee. Their legs were interlocked, and the blanket was draped over the both of them. He was resting his cup on her calf.

"Nothing," James replied. Remus coughed. "Honestly! It's just- what's Lily going to think? I mean, I just had the best night of my life and I haven't even spoken to her about it..."

Hermione remembered the way he had looked at her last night, under the ice and singing nymphs. She said, "You're scared she's going to go back to Bernie."

James didn't look at her, he just shrugged. Sirius stared at his friend sharply.

"She wouldn't," he said swiftly, a certain confidence in his voice.

Nobody said anything for a second.

"You know what's annoying though?" James mumbled. "He's a really nice bloke-"

"Nice bloke?" Sirius repeated incredulously. "He tried to take my head off with that plate!"

"He attacked you with a plate?" Hermione asked, dubious.

Sirius looked at her with his eyebrows raised and said, "Yes, I don't think he was too pleased about the silk."

He gestured theatrically to his chest.

"Or the fact you tried to decapitate him first at the Quidditch match," Remus said sarcastically.

Sirius spluttered, offended, but in the end, he had no valid argument so he closed his mouth and allowed James to continue.

"No, but I mean, decent, good intentions, the whole shebang."

There was a sad resignation to his voice, as if he knew he had just lost the single greatest thing in his life, and it was probably the best thing for her.

Hermione felt her heart fall through her chest.

"Except one thing," Peter said.

They all looked at him.

"And what's that?"

Pete shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "He's not you."

Hermione felt herself falter. As strange as it sounded, Peter was right. It was and had and would only ever be James and Lily. There was nothing else to it.

James stared at his friend, speechless. He swallowed, smiled slightly and said, “Thanks Pete.”

Peter just shrugged bashfully. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was absorbed in a comfortable quiet. Hermione shuffled in her seat and Pete lifted his legs up to let her adjust her position; she laughed at his expression as he tried to keep his drink in the cup. When she got comfy, he rested his limbs over the top of hers, and flashed her a smile.

"Remus?" James questioned suddenly.

Hermione looked at him. Remus was frowning, his eyebrows pulled together in a tight knit. His knuckle traced the outline of his lips; a sure sign that his mind was whirring.

"What are you thinking?" She asked gently.

He raised his eyes to her. "Why would Dumbledore remove you from the school?”

Sirius sighed laboriously. “I thought we’d discussed this?”

Remus sat up and stressed, “Yes, but it makes no sense. If he wanted to protect you and hide your identity, why would he send you away, and by extension all of us?"

"What are you getting at, Moony?" said Sirius, shaking his head.

Remus tore his eyes away from her to look at the others. He said, "I'm saying if Dumbledore thinks that there's an inside-man, why would he send Hermione away?" He licked his lips nervously. "There's no logic to it! Sending her away wouldn't secure her secret-"

"It would out it," Hermione finished for him. He stared at her.

"Exactly."

Peter was watching them all, his puzzlement leaking out of him. "I don't understand," he said. "What does that mean?"

There was muted horror clear on James' face as he said, "Dumbledore put a big red marker above Hermione's head by sending her away. It means that whoever's on the inside... They'll know it's her."

This revelation was pungent in the air, and it seemed to resonate within their bones. Eyes wide, Peter looked at them all. He said quietly, "Why would he do that?"

Hermione clenched her jaw. She said, "Because he doesn't want me in his way."

"In his way?" Remus asked, alarmed. "Hermione what are you talking about?"

"He wants to defeat Voldemort," she explained. "But he doesn't want my help. He doesn't want me to change the timeline. He can't risk it."

"Well why's that such a bad thing?" Peter questioned. His face was screwed up in concentration as he tried to understand. She felt herself tremble.

"Because if I don't change the timeline," Hermione breathed, the truth weighing her down, burning her tongue, but it was unavoidable. She couldn't lie to them. This was their _future_... "You all die."

There was a deathly silence, so deathly Hermione swore she could hear her heart thudding on the air.

"Why-" Sirius began faintly before breaking off, closing his eyes. "Why would Dumbledore let us die? I don’t… why would he want that?”

There was something unsure in his voice, something very young and vulnerable. She looked at James, to find him fading away. “He doesn’t want it. He just doesn’t want to change the future. He’s scared of what could happen if I try to divert everyone from their… destinies.”

_"Time is an intricate balance. It is a thread, a loop of string; if you so much as touch it, you cannot possibly predict the tangles that will inevitably occur. And nobody likes a thread with tangles, Hermione. Nobody prefers complications to the straightforward."_

_Her face tightened on its own accord, and she tilted her head slightly. “Are you telling me that I have to sit here, when I could do so much more, and let everything roll out as planned? Let everyone 'follow their threads?' Let my friends, the people I love, die…?”_

“Destinies?” Remus scoffed.

“’Nobody likes a thread with tangles,’” she recited incoherently.

“What?” Remus asked.

Hermione looked at him, and shook her head, “It’s something Dumbledore said.”

Peter was staring at her. He asked very carefully, “But what do you think?”

She thought about it. She thought about her self-loathing Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in third year, the one who had lived his life in solitude and left his own baby alone in the world because he had fought for a better tomorrow; of the shadow of a man who’d had his childhood and happiness wrenched from him, the one who had died for a godson he had loved more than anything else; of the scared traitor, so insecure and swathed in fear that he had done the worst possible thing and had sacrificed himself, clasping hold of his one shot at redemption; and of the boy and his beautiful wife who had died at only 21 years old, when they had so much to give, just to rot in the ground.

“I think,” Hermione said slowly. “I think that thread is meant to be tangled.” She stared at them all, at the werewolf, the traitor, the convict and the carcass; her boys and said, “I don’t believe in destiny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so long!! Yess!! It's also really important- this is the moment where Hermione has un-waveringly decided and voiced that she IS going to change the world. This is where it starts.   
> I just want to say thank you so much for sticking with this story... I know I say it a lot, but as someone who loves writing (and Harry Potter) it's honestly so overwhelming to get this kind of feedback and I'm so grateful for the time and patience you've given me. I can't thank you enough.   
> I never realised how long this fic was!!! I wasn't planning on making it this long, but I needed to flesh out the characters and relationships and problems and this is where the second part of the fic, the darker part, starts. There's going to be a lot less fluff and a lot more angst from now on, but I won't be too mean, I promise!! And I definitely plan on finishing this so don't worry! I could never abandon my boys or Hermione or you, even if I wanted to!!


	45. Chapter 45- The Father

** Chapter 45- The Father **

 

Hermione woke up the next morning, and the first thing she noticed was how quiet her mind was.

Normally, she would wake with her brain whirring and screaming because of a nightmare or memory, but today, it was calm. Her heart was steady. It was a nice change, she thought, and she laid back down, smiling. She hadn’t slept this well in a while.

She remembered their conversation the night before, and that same determination swelled up inside of her. For too long, she had been complacent. Ever since she had arrived in the past, she had ignorantly tried to forget all of the weight of the future. The Marauders had taken her in, shielded her, and she had completely forgotten her place. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t normal. She had the key to create something better, the knowledge to save the people she loved- she wasn’t going to let the world burn.

And now, although she had known it all along, she finally felt like it was a possibility. Her heart was set and nothing, not even Dumbledore, could change her mind.

A soft knock at her door pulled her out of her reverie, and she rolled over, calling, “Come in.”

James’ face peered around the door. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his black hair was sticking up in every single direction. He looked bemused. “Good morning.”

“Hello,” Hermione grinned, stretching out across the bed. He slipped into the room, making his way over to sit on the edge of her mattress.

“Did you sleep well?” James asked courteously, smiling at her.

“Extremely,” she replied, looking upside down at him, still sprawled out.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding, looking around.

Hermione licked her lips, and something gnawed at her, a question she had been burning to ask since yesterday morning. She rolled over onto her stomach, and rested her chin on her hands.

“Your parents are like Sirius’ parents too, aren’t they?” She asked gently. In her time, she couldn’t ever remember Harry telling her about him. The only thing that had ever told her anything about Sirius was that awful screeching portrait of his mother in Grimmauld Place, although she wasn’t sure whether she could trust anything that ghastly woman said.

“They are his parents,” James said. There was no room for discussion.

Hermione stared at him.

"What happened?" She asked, playing with the hem of the blanket.

James sighed, leaning back on her bed. "As you've already gathered, Sirius' family aren't... the nicest. They're Pureblood elitists, you know the type that think they're superior to everyone else? Yeah... Well anyway, Sirius didn't agree with them. And they didn't like that." He paused, and his throat bobbed up and down. James shifted in his seat, turning to face her. His eyes were wide, looking even bigger than usual because of his lack of glasses. "What Sirius probably won't tell you is that he was his mum's favourite. She always coddled him, moulded him into this perfect Pureblood son. Maybe that's why he rebelled... When he didn't agree with the 'all Muggles are scum' approach, his family turned on him."

Hermione focused on James' pale face.

He said quietly, "Let's just say, his mother definitely wouldn't win mother of the year anytime soon. His father didn't have the balls to care. Eventually, he ran away. That was in our fifth year. My parents adopted him." Swallowing, James tugged on the blanket. His face was pained as he said, "He's my brother, you know?"

Hermione remembered that day in the Room of Requirement; Sirius' low murmuring voice and the story of the little girl. She remembered the way Regulus' voice had broken as he'd screamed at her.

**“They were killing him, Regulus. They were killing him-”**

**“THEY WERE KILLING ME TOO!”**

She closed her eyes, pain flashing across her face, and asked hesitantly, "Did they-?"

"Yeah." James said. She was grateful that he hadn't let her finish her question but the answer was just as harrowing. "He just turned up on my doorstep one day, in the rain. He was drenched, holding this one bag, covered in bruises and he was bleeding everywhere. He never told me what happened- I didn't ask- but it doesn't take a genius to work it out."

Hermione bit at her lip and said in a small voice, "And after it all, he's still so good."

James nodded slowly. "Yeah, but he has his days. Like when you went outside on the full moon, which was stupid as fuck by the way." She winced. He lowered his voice and said, "I've known him for seven years and I've never seen him look like that."

Hermione stared at him, her heart thudding agonisingly in her chest. She licked her lips. "Like what?"

James stared right back at her and he never wavered. "Like he'd just lost everything."

The door burst open, and she jumped, wrenched from the startling honesty of their prior conversation. Sirius was hovering in the doorway, looking at them both funnily.

“Ma sent me up to get you,” he said, grinning. “Did I interrupt a heart to heart?”

Hermione launched her pillow at him, and it hit him straight in the face. She was still blushing, her heart heavy. James burst out laughing.

Sirius shook his head morosely, “I came up here to tell you food was ready and this is how you repay me. Next time, I’m just going to let you both starve!”

Still chuckling to themselves, they followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Remus and Peter were already sat, helping themselves to egg and toast. Mrs Potter was by the stove, humming to herself and an older man who Hermione hadn’t yet met was sat in the bottle green armchair, reading the newspaper.

“Dad!” James greeted, running over to see him.

Mr Potter raised his eyes from his page and his face immediately lit up at the sight of his son. “Skiving are we, Fleamont?”

James’ eyes widened in offence, his mouth falling open. Sirius guffawed and Remus snorted through his cereal. Peter was too busy gorging himself to pay any attention.

A laugh left Hermione’s lips before she could stop it tumbling out, and Mr Potter’s eyes danced to her.

“Ah, is this the influence?” He asked. There was something distinctly familiar about the way he looked, from the ghost of his smile to the crinkles by his eyes, and Hermione felt her heart ache. He looked like Harry. “I’ll have you know, miss, that before they met you, my sons were incredibly well-behaved, model students. You’ve corrupted them!”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at his boyish grin. Mrs Potter made a sound of indignation by the stove and said crossly, “Your sons were troublemakers well before they met Hermione.”

Mr Potter looked at her and murmured, “They’re always my sons when they’re in trouble.”

She beamed at him. Mrs Potter turned around, a frying pan in her hand and said, “Hermione, dear, where are you sitting? I’ve made you egg and soldiers.”

Hermione slipped into the nearest chair, her stomach rumbling as her breakfast was put before her.

"Thank you," she said. Mrs Potter smiled gently at her, putting another strip of toast on her plate and winking. Hermione hadn't realised how hungry she was, but the smell of food had woken that part of her up.

"Anything in the paper, Pa?" Sirius asked, mouth full.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and Mrs Potter whacked him on the back of his head lightly. "Mouth closed," she chastised.

He obliged.

Mr Potter grinned at this, but folded the paper and dropped it into the dying fire, which roared and stuttered back to life. There was nothing suspicious about the way he did it, but Hermione had lived through a war. She saw the tension in the veins on his hands, and the forced nonchalance of the gesture. She knew that there was indeed something in that paper. But he said, "No. Never is these days, unless you count Celestina Warbeck's third marriage as newsworthy."

"Celestina is getting married?" James asked, perking up from his breakfast. At six very odd looks, he closed his mouth and lowered his eyes. "Pretend I never said anything."

Peter's eyes were filled with mirth and he sent Hermione a cheeky grin. She sucked in her lips to stop herself from laughing.

"What are you lot thinking of doing today?" Mrs Potter asked, taking a place at the opposite side of the table.

"Well, dearest, I was planning on going to work, writing a few reports, terrorising old Moody, maybe even make a few friends-" Mr Potter replied mildly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I was talking to the children, Charlus."

Mr Potter sent them a wink.

"I don't know, maybe go to the village and wreak havoc," Sirius suggested. This suggestion was instantly discarded at Mrs Potter's pointed look.

"What did Dumbledore say?" She reminded. "I'm on strict orders to keep you under supervision at all times."

Hermione shifted in her seat, lifting her glass full of orange juice higher to conceal her frazzled blush.

"Oh, that's right," James said knowingly. "We're on house arrest."

He had barely time to duck as a croissant went flying past his head. Affronted, he whipped his head back and indignantly demanded, "Mother!"

Mrs Potter was shaking her finger at him. "It's not house arrest!"

"Dorea," Mr Potter interrupted, almost hesitantly. "It may be slightly house arrest. They're kids, let them outside at least. They need to burn off some energy."

"But Albus said-"

Mr Potter stood up from his chair (he was quite a short man, considerably shorter than his wife) and moved to stand behind her. His hands rubbed her shoulders. "I know what Albus said, and I know he's doing what's best for them... But he never said they couldn't leave the house, only the property. Just let them out into the yard, at least."

And it was the sweet-talking of Charlus Potter that saw the five of them stood in the garden an hour later, dressed in their scruffiest clothes, each holding a variation of James' old brooms.

The wind was sharp and biting and Hermione tugged Sirius' old jumper further around her, squinting her eyes against the onslaught of nature.

"Is this a good idea?" She shouted, her voice being torn from her throat. Remus, just as affected and blown away, looked at her. "I don't think it's a good idea."

They both looked at James and Sirius, who were setting up a mock Quidditch pitch. Peter was huddled up in a huge, oversized coat. The only part of him that was visible was the tiny wedge of white of his face, framed by the thickness and fur of his coat.

"Right you sorry lot!" Sirius yelled, flying to land in front of them. James swiftly followed.

"Hermione, Peter, you're with me. Remus, that means you're with Sirius," James dictated, Quaffle under one arm. "It's just gonna be a case of getting the ball through the hoop, no Beaters and no Snitch. Seeing as there's only two of you, you can come out of goal. Everybody got it?"

There was a unanimous murmur of understanding, and the game commenced, despite the fact that the wind was strong enough to blow them all away.

Once she had managed to get up into the air (it took her a fair few tries), Hermione realised the appeal. The rush of life lacing through her hair, caressing her skin. The feeling of weightlessness as she soared through the clouds. Although it wasn't sunny and there was a thick layer of fog hanging low over the Potter residence, she still felt invincible.

And that invincibility lasted a total of eighteen minutes, after thirty-one goals, and Peter was barrelled off his broom onto the floor, when instead of feeling weightless and free, Hermione felt confined and a damning sensation of wrongness.

The wing stopped singing and started to howl. The coldness turned biting and numb. Her skin prickled.

“Inside!”

The scream tore through the wind, and it was sharp and piercing in Hermione’s ears compared to the rush of adrenaline that flying entailed. She swung her broom around in the direction of the shout. Mrs Potter was running towards them, her hair loose from her braid. “Come inside!”

There was something frighteningly desperate about her that had Hermione’s heart pumping.

Without hesitation, she flew to the ground, jumping off of her broom as soon as it came to a halt. James was beside her in a second. His hair was windswept, and he asked distractedly, “What’s going on?”

Mrs Potter’s eyes were searching for the other three, and her face was tight and strained. She said, “There’s been an attack. Get inside."

Hermione's eyes found James'. Both of their breaths were frigid globes of white in the air, their prior euphoria trickling out through their lips. They dropped their brooms, hesitating only once in their journey to the house to look back. Peter was following them. Remus and Sirius were mere pinpricks in the distance.

As soon as they were in the house, a wall of trepidation fell upon them. The kitchen seemed to trap them, and Hermione spun around, holding her head. She only stopped when her eyes snagged on James. He was staring at her through wide eyes.

Peter burst through the door, breathing heavily, the hood of his coat was flung down to reveal his pale, stricken face.

"Mum's just paranoid," James said. He seemed to be trying to reassure them. "Dumbledore told her not to let us out. This is all because she doesn't want to get into trouble with him, it's fine. It's okay."

Hermione swallowed. She wasn't sure whether he was trying to reassure them, or trying to reassure himself.

The door flung open and a muddy Remus and Sirius collapsed inside, followed by Mrs Potter, who raised her wand as soon as the door was closed. Hermione recognised the spells as warding spells. She felt her body freeze.

Remus was by her side in an instant, tall and lean, towering above her. She wanted to reach for him but his body radiated warmth and the few inches between them felt like miles.

"Ma what's going on?" Sirius questioned. She didn't say anything, just regarded him briefly through sad eyes.

The fire flared into life and Mr Potter stepped out, unkempt and serious. He looked much older and the lines of his face seemed deeper than Hermione remembered; there were no crinkles by his eyes.

"Dad?" James asked. Mr Potter glanced at him, but raised his wand to help his wife ward the house. Incantations fell from his lips, and there was a bubble of magic that consumed them all.

His hand fell to his side and he dropped into a chair.

"Dad," James said again, cautiously, timidly. "What's happened?"

Mr Potter massaged his temple, a long and heavy sigh leaving his lips. He looked at them all through tired eyes. "Voldemort's followers were reported raiding a nearby Muggle village. Aurors have been dispatched but Albus couldn't risk it. He made me leave immediately."

"How nearby?" Remus asked, his voice tight. His hand twitched by Hermione's, as though his innate reaction to terror was to hold her. She wished he would. She was tired of having to be strong. She couldn't do it anymore.

Mr Potter stared at him, his entire face strained. He ducked his head and said, "Darbyshire."

"That's just over a mile away!" Sirius exploded. Peter breathed in sharply, and James was there in an instant to hold him up, just in case he needed it.

"They call themselves Death Eaters," Mr Potter continued, voice grave. "By the time I was leaving, the Ministry was sending a second wave of Aurors to confront them. The first had all perished."

Hermione closed her eyes.

She wondered whether this was how Harry felt, as though death and destruction were perpetually tailing him, waiting for chinks in his protective shield before it took out everyone and everything he held dear. She opened her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said. They all looked at her. "I didn't mean to do this. I didn't want to put any of you in danger."

Remus finally touched her, firmly and the feeling of his hand on her wrist grounded her. "What are you talking about?"

"This is all my fault. I- those Aurors, those Muggles, they're all dead because of me," she spoke in rushes of uneven air. "Because Voldemort wants me."

Her friends flinched at the name. Mrs Potter shook her head, moving forwards and when she got close enough, she wrapped her arms around Hermione, pulling her close.

"It's not your fault," she murmured, and the warmth of her embrace and the love she radiated was enough to make Hermione almost believe her. "It's not your fault."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mr and Mrs Potter so much! I've already said this, but it was in one of the chapters from ages ago so I'll say it again, but I'm kind of attached to Charlus and Dorea as James' parents, regardless of what JK Rowling has released on Pottermore. Thank you so so so much for all your support and lovely comments, I can't even explain enough how happy they make me:)


	46. Chapter 46- The Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for your lovely reviews. Honestly, you make me cry ahahaha! To see the feedback and responses to something you put your heart and soul into is so heartwarming so thank you.

They found forty Muggles hanging from trees in a graveyard about fifteen minutes away from the Potter house. Nobody really spoke about it, but they were all aware, and the mere knowledge was harrowing, eating away at their hearts.

According to Mr Potter, the Ministry had retreated and sent in a team the following night to clean up loose ends. The entire village had been obliviated and the bodies had been disposed of and that was that. There was nothing more to it.

Albeit hesitantly, Mrs Potter had supervised a shopping trip to Diagon Alley in the week leading up to Christmas and Hermione used some of the money Dumbledore had given to her to buy presents. It was only a short trip, and she was rarely alone as Mrs Potter, usually so unworried in her normal demeanour according to James, was frigid and tense. They were there for a total of fifty two minutes, before she had whisked them all away and they had flooed back to the manor.

Since then, they had done nothing else, just lounged in their fabricated safety, praying that their boredom would not be interrupted.

Peter left a few days before Christmas to spend it with his family, but not before giving Hermione a long hug, where he'd held her close and tight for a very long time and whispered, "Owl me every hour of every day."

Hermione had laughed and felt his grin against the side of her face. She promised.

And so far, she had kept it.

It had dawned on her then that Remus was not returning home, and when she'd asked him about it one night after supper, he just said, "My dad's busy," and had gone to bed without another word.

Now though, on the evening of Christmas Eve, as Hermione stood next to James, washing the dishes for his mother, she cleared her throat.

"What happened to Remus' dad?" She asked, trying to appear casual.

James flung the tea towel over his shoulder (he was on official drying duty) and ran his damp fingers through his hair. "What did he tell you?"

Hermione looked sideways at him. He sighed and said, "You asked him about it, right? And you're not satisfied with the answer. You can't be, you're you."

She frowned, uncertain whether this was an insult or a compliment.

"So what did he say?"

"That his dad was busy."

James hummed. "Yeah, I can see why that didn't appease you."

She raised an eyebrow, pausing in her chore. "So what happened?"

He faltered then, as if he wasn't entirely sure how to start. James said, "Remus' dad is... is the reason Greyback bit him in the first place."

Hermione felt the horror crawling up her throat, and her heart dropped to the very bottom of her stomach. He paused and added, "Do you know who Greyback is?"

Yes she knew who Greyback was- _twisting his claws through the back of Ron Weasley, those same eyes that had creased every time she made him laugh, and narrowed when they argued; those same eyes that closed when she kissed him and softened every time they landed on her, those same eyes widened one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within-_

Her body wanted to convulse, or sob. She couldn't speak, she just nodded silently.

James continued. "Right, well, good. Remus' dad worked at the Ministry at the time, and there had been a werewolf attack, where some Muggle kids had been killed. They brought in Greyback to interrogate and one thing led to another. Apparently he tried to get away scot-free… Remus’ dad wasn’t going to sit back and let that happen and he ended up calling werewolves evil, soulless… saying they deserved nothing but death…” Hermione inhaled sharply. His eyes shot to her. “Yeah, you get the point. I don’t know what happened exactly. Needless to say, Greyback didn't like that.” He threaded the towel through his fingers, staring at the soapy water. Hermione watched him. She knew where this story was going, but she didn’t want to hear it.

“When Remus was…five, I think, Greyback broke into the house and attacked him. His dad managed to fight him off but it was too late. Remus had been bitten.”

Hermione rubbed at her eyes; she hadn’t realised she had been crying. James swallowed. “It was, uh, kind of a karma… at least, that’s what it was to Greyback. But Remus’ dad tried his hardest. So did his mum. Then his mum died and Remus hasn’t been home since.”

His voice broke but he cleared his throat, whipping the towel from his shoulder. He reached for a plate and started drying it vigorously. "He thinks his dad sees him as a monster. He doesn't realise that he's the only person who thinks that way. All his dad wants is for him to go home..." James trailed off. He clenched his jaw and looked away, like the truth both infuriated him and upset him greatly and said quietly, "The only person who thinks Remus is a monster... _is Remus_."

 

**oOoOoOo**

Someone jumped on her bed.

Hermione groaned, nuzzling her head deeper into her pillow as the someone (she had an idea who) bounced and rolled about.

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! Get up! _It’s Christmas!”_

She huffed, pulling her blanket further over her head. It was pulled back a second later, and a hand caressed her cheek, stroking her hair from her eyes. “Hermione,” a voice murmured. “If you don’t wake up now, you’re probably going to be on the receiving end of a particularly enthusiastic tickling spell.”

She sat up abruptly.

Remus was stood by her side, grinning down at her, his hair shining golden in the white light that streamed through the slit in her curtains. He looked pale and tired, but unbelievably happy. His eyes were shining, and he was wearing his worn-looking brown jumper, and long pyjama bottoms that trailed past his feet and along the floor. She dragged her eyes to the rest of the room.

Sirius and James were bouncing on her bed, hair sticking up in every direction, big grins present on their faces. Hermione yawned, rubbing her eyes.

“What time is it?” She asked.

Remus checked his watch and a wry smirk curled his lips. “6:30.”

Her eyes widened dramatically and she looked at him, eyes flashing, wordlessly demanding ‘ _are you serious?!_ ’ He nodded. Hermione slipped out of her blanket, reaching out slowly to grab the nearest ankle to her. The effect was instantaneous.

Her fingers wrapped around Sirius’ leg and she pulled, dragging him down. In his bewildered-infused excitement, he yelped, flailing and latching onto the nearest thing, which just so happened to be an equally excited James, who came tumbling down too. They both landed on her, and the three of them lay, groaning, in a human sandwich. Remus stared at them.

“Give us a hand mate?” James muttered, holding out of his hand. Sighing heavily and murmuring something in Welsh that was undoubtedly offensive, Remus conceded, reaching out to pull him up, but James had other ideas. As soon as their hands interlocked, he pulled the taller boy down onto the pile.

Despite the fact that not one of them had willingly decided to do this, the four of them laid there, their legs twined, their hair fanned out across another’s face. Hermione couldn’t remember her last Christmas, but she could remember this euphoric exhilaration darting through her veins and that sense of _belonging_.

“We should really move,” Sirius said, but he didn’t. He just continued to lie there.

Hermione felt their bodies, warm and pulsing with life. She heard each small inhalation and exhalation of air they made. This was how it was supposed to be. This contentment, this affection. James was shaking with laughter, Remus was seeping exasperation. Sirius’ arm was stretched above her head and his fingers played with a curl of her hair. She said, “I love you,” and she meant it. With all her heart.

Before anyone could answer, the door opened once more. Mr Potter poked his head around the corner, eyes searching for his children. They fell on the bed, and an amused grin lit up his face. He shook his head fondly, and said, “Are you coming downstairs?”

They shot into action. Sirius threw his arm around her as they walked. He tugged her close, pressed a kiss to her temple and said, “I love you too, kitten.”

The living room was extravagant and decorated. The tree stood in one corner, beside the roaring fireplace, and was draped in white lights, with baubles hanging from every branch. This was a result of their prior boredom as just four days earlier, they had set themselves the gigantic task of making the house suitably dressed for the festivities to come. Tinsel had been twirled around everything (Sirius was overly fond of glitter) and Peter and Hermione, despite being the shortest, had been responsible for hanging the lights. Presents, brightly wrapped, of all shapes and sizes, were dotted about the room. Mr Potter sat down in an armchair, draping a blanket over his knees, whilst his wife appeared from the kitchen, beaming and holding a tray of steaming hot chocolates.

James launched himself down by the fire, reaching for the first present. His eyes were wide and bright and he was practically buzzing with eagerness. He read the tag and exclaimed, “Mione! This one’s for you! From Pete!”

Hermione faltered. As strange as it sounded, she hadn’t really expected anything. She’d only known them for a month, if that, and yet they had taken her in, adopted her as Sirius had dubbed it all that time ago… The Marauders had become her family.

She moved over to sit beside him, taking the package he offered. It was small but thick and wrapped sloppily in three different types of wrapping paper. Hermione smiled; the present was very obviously from Peter.

She ripped it open and paused.

It was a stack of Polaroid photographs, muggle ones, showing things that Hermione hadn’t even realised had been captured forever, but it seemed that she was wrong. Peter had been documenting her life in the past ever since she had first arrived. She felt her breath catch in her throat and she ran her thumb across the surface of the top photo. It was a picture of her and Sirius sleeping, entangled in one another, on the bank of the Black Lake. Hermione bit her lip. She remembered that day so vividly, remembered the wetness of his scraggly hair and the warmth of the sun.

She smiled fondly, and moved onto the other photographs. There was one of Sirius and James wrestling; and another of Remus trying to lift a laughing Hermione into the air; of the entire school sporting their animal attributes as a result of the prank. There were Polaroids of the five of them victorious on the Gryffindor table; of her and Peter in the snowy Hogsmeade street; of them all sat in The Three Broomsticks; of the Christmas ball and the mock Quidditch Match. There was a photograph for each memory of her time in the past. Peter truly was a great friend, and Hermione couldn’t see how anyone could argue otherwise. He had locked a little piece of happiness inside each photo, and she could feel the love pouring from the ink.

“Hey, that’s me!” Sirius pointed out happily, looking over her shoulder. He had collected all of his presents and had proceeded to open them in a frenzy of exhilaration, but had decided to nosy first. His finger jabbed at the photographic faces of his friends. “And Remus!”

Remus perked up from his position on the floor by one of the sofas. “Does it capture my casual good looks and witty character?” He asked mildly.

Hermione shot him an amused look. Sirius didn’t seem to get it, and instead prodded her arm. She turned to look at him to see he had pushed a rather large pile of gifts towards her. “They’re yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said slowly. “You didn’t think we’d just leave you with nothing, did you? It’s Christmas!”

She swallowed, and didn’t say anything, but he didn’t seem to notice. He sectioned off the presents wrapped in gold and grinned at her. “Open these ones!”

Hermione laughed slightly at his excitement, like a small puppy, but did as he said and his eyes watched her every movement. She froze.

Sirius hadn’t bought her one thing, he had bought her several; dresses and shirts and skirts and jeans in all different styles and colours. Hermione didn’t know what to say. She lifted them up, staring at them in awe. He had bought her what looked like a new wardrobe.

"Sirius… you didn't have to do that!" She exclaimed. "I can't take these!"

Sirius waved his hand nonchalantly. "Please do. It's my Mother's money and I take great joy in spending it on the people I actually care about. Now just say thank you and accept the presents and be glad that my Mother hasn’t closed off her Gringotts account."

She stared at him, and smiled, “Thank you Sirius.”

He smiled charmingly at her. “You’re very welcome kitten.”

Hermione stared down at her pile and reached to open another present. This one was from the Potters, wrapped in red paper. It was a box, heavy and large, stretching across both her knees and she unwrapped it carefully. She reached into it and pulled out a large quill, and a leather bound journal, and multiple pots of ink.

“Oh my,” she breathed, stroking the cover of the journal. It was coarse under her fingers.

"It was James' idea," Mrs Potter said, smiling. Hermione looked at him.

Face pink, he scratched his neck and said, "I figured you didn't have a lot of basic stuff, so I wanted to be useful. Plus, you’re studious and I didn’t really know what else to get you, so I settled for the safest option, I guess, erm-”

“Stop rambling, I love it,” Hermione interrupted, beaming at him. She reached over to loop an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, into a hug. James leaned into her. She looked at Mrs and Mr Potter and said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mr Potter said. “You’re family now. Family do that for one another. It’s just a shame we couldn’t get you more.”

Hermione beamed at him, feeling a warmth flood her chest. To stop herself from looking like a blushing fool, she looked down, but the happiness just spread through her body. She had another book, this one unwrapped, with no card or note to go with it.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned it over to look at the front. _Peter Pan_ by J.M Barrie.

Sirius glanced over and said, “Peter Pan? That’s-”

He broke off, freezing. Hermione looked at his face. His expression was frigid, unveiled and open.

“It’s what?” She prompted.

“A good book,” he replied smoothly, grinning at her as though nothing was wrong. Hermione knew there was more to it, but dropped the subject, even as his eyes flicked to the book twice more and his throat bobbed.

She moved onto her next present. It was a small box, encased in emerald paper. Sirius wrinkled his nose, “Of all colours.”

She ignored him. Carefully, Hermione slid her finger under the paper, which had been loosely but meticulously wrapped, and pulled until it teared, and the paper fell. She felt her eyebrows pull together.

It was a black box, no bigger than the palm of her hand, sealed with a ribbon. She pulled on it.

The bracelet was of the shiniest silver, which curved and twisted to form a series of small flowers. Hermione slipped it onto her wrist, relishing in the cold touch of the metal against her skin. It was then that she noticed a piece of parchment, which was blank with the exception of one sentence, written in an elegant scrawl:

‘ _Look like the innocent flower.’_

Before she could stop herself, she felt her lips curl into a smile and let her finger trace the petals of one of the flowers. She couldn’t believe him. The bracelet was obviously expensive and regal, and far more than she deserved. Her heart was numb with shock.

This final present was wrapped neatly in newspaper, and Hermione knew who the giver was immediately. She opened it and smiled. In her hands was a small book, with a flower engraved onto the cover. Remus had bought her a flower press.

She stared at him, watching his golden hair fall over his face and shine in the firelight. His skin was porcelain and pale and she knew why. She knew what was happening tonight, remembered what James had said-

_“The only person who thinks Remus is a monster... is Remus."_

-and yet, Hermione thought, he still looked beautiful.

She crawled over to him, sitting beside him. He looked at her, surprised at her presence.

Leaning closer, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and said, “Thank you.”

Remus smiled gently at her. He said, “It’s for all the flowers. The forget-me-nots and the dandelions. That is, if you haven’t made a wish yet.”

“I haven’t,” Hermione murmured. “I’m saving it.”

He cocked his head. “Saving it? For what?”

A lump formed in her throat and she wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. _For the darkness, for the war, for **you**_ -

“For when I need a bit of hope,” she said instead, bumping her shoulder into his. His smile dropped and he continued to stare at her, monitoring her face. It was like he knew it all anyway.

“Hope,” he repeated, lifting his finger up. She tapped it with hers and smiled at him.

“Hope.”

**oOoOoOo**

The day passed in a haze of happiness.

She helped Mrs Potter make Christmas dinner whilst they chatted about romances and the boys and trivial things that Hermione hadn’t thought she would ever care for, and then they all sat around the table for an hour or two, telling stories and laughing. Now, it was nearly 7 and they were all in Hermione’s bedroom.

“Come on, Mione,” Sirius groaned, throwing himself backwards across her bed.

She shot him a look from the other side of the room, where she was busy arranging all of her presents on the top of her dresser. James and Sirius were sprawled across her bed and Remus was leaning against her windowsill. She said simply, “No.”

“But why?” He moaned, covering his face with his arm.

“Sirius,” Hermione stressed in exasperation. “I am not doing a fashion show for you.”

James grinned at the pair of them and said, “Aw, go on. Strut your stuff, Mione! It’d be good for you to see if Sirius’ clothes fit!”

Sirius perked up, jumping on this opportunity and said, “Yeah! See!” She looked at them both, indecision flashing across her face, until he added excitedly, “Plus, it’d be _hot_!”

Her expression turned shrewd and she flicked her wrist, resulting in her duvet springing to life and wrapping itself around Sirius’ helpless body, like a rolled-up pancake. “ _Hey_ -!”

Remus huffed a laugh, his arms folded across his chest. He said, “I’ll hold a blanket for you to change behind, if you want?”

Hermione stared at him, then sighed in resignation. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

Sirius stopped struggling then, and his head appeared abruptly, hope present in his eyes. “Really?”

“Not for you, Casanova. I’m just trying them on!”

James laughed, “Shot down!”

Sirius kicked him.

Remus went over to the bed, picking up a blanket to use as a cover, before making his way over to her. Hermione shook her head morosely. He gave her a half-smile. “You don’t have to do it.”

“Might as well,” she replied. “It’s not the changing in front of boys that concerns me. It’s the changing in front of _Sirius_.”

He snorted. “You’ll be surprised to know that he’s not as big of a dog as he lets on. He’s be the blushing virgin.”

Hermione gave him a look that clearly showed her disbelief at this statement.

“Honest,” he said. She took Remus’ hands and held them up so the blanket was stretched out for her to change behind. His face was close to her and he raised his eyebrows and said, “He’s surprisingly vanilla.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it and she bit her lip, reaching up to cup Remus’ face and turn it away. She felt him grin between her hands.

Hermione slid out of her pyjamas (they had all been lazy and refused to get dress if only for the fact it was Christmas), and tried on the first things on the pile of clothes from Sirius which just so happened to be light blue flare pants that stopped at her waist and a white blouse with a high neckline and ruffled sleeves. She stepped out and struck a pose.

Sirius whooped and cheered. James grinned at her, giving her the thumbs up. Hermione felt ridiculous but there was no going back now. She walked forward, jutting her hips out, waving her arms, until she was only a few inches in front of Sirius, where she blew him a kiss. He laughed but caught it anyway.

Remus just shook his head at their antics, smiling slightly.

This continued for several more outfits and it had progressed to James and Sirius giving commentary.

“Magnificent!”

“Fabulous!”

“Oh my! If only Van Gogh could paint you! You’d put the Mona Lisa to shame, my darling! _To shame_!”

“Look at her work it! Have you ever seen anything as _glorious_?!”

Hermione changed into the final piece of clothing, a light pink dress with long sleeves and a frilly skirt that ended at her knees. Looking at it, she wouldn’t say it was to her taste, but nevertheless, it was pretty and soft to touch.

She moved around the blanket once more, grinning, throwing her arms up in an exaggerated pose. Sirius and James stopped talking and stared at her, mouths agape. Nobody spoke.

Hermione swallowed, her arms falling to her side. “What?”

James’ throat bobbed and his eyes were wide behind his glasses. “Nothing, you just, uh…”

Not even Sirius had anything to say. Remus let his arms drop.

“That bad, huh?” She asked awkwardly, spinning around, looking down to try and see herself.

“It’s not that,” Remus said, clearing his throat.

“You look beautiful,” Sirius said. She stared at him, running a hand through her hair.

“You have good taste,” Hermione said, smiling.

“Did you ever doubt me?” He smirked.

She tilted her head, biting back a grin and said, “I would never!”

The conversation fell flat then, and they all seemed to succumb to tiredness. Hermione sifted the material through her fingers.

Remus stretched his neck and said, “It’s getting late. I think I need to-”

He broke off, his eyes landing on Hermione, and he looked away just as quickly. James jumped to his feet.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll come too.” He moved over to stand in front of her, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into his brotherly embrace. “Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

“Merry Christmas, James.”

And when he let go, he smiled lopsidedly at her, bopping her nose before leaving. Hermione turned to Remus, who was adamantly avoiding her gaze.

She walked towards him, looping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. He had no choice but to hug her back. She murmured, “Goodnight Remus.”

He breathed in and when he breathed out, the air danced through her hair, and he seemed to slump into her, whispering, “Goodnight Hermione.”

When he left, it was just her and Sirius. They looked at each other.

"This time, I'm telling you directly," Sirius said, coming closer. There was a hint of laughter in his voice but she knew he was being serious. "Just so there's no confusion-"

“Don’t go outside," she interrupted, rolling her eyes and pushing his arm. "I know."

It became serious far too soon. She stared at him. “Don’t let him hurt himself.”

Sirius’ grin faded away. He nodded, before reaching out and touching her arm fleetingly. Then, he turned and left too.

**oOoOoOo**

Hermione only slept for a few hours that night, before she woke up. There was something buzzing in her veins, a sort of restlessness that would not let her sleep. So she climbed out of bed and sat on the windowsill, with Peter Pan, reading by the moonlight.

A howl sounded, and she tore her eyes away from her page and looked outside. The wolf looked majestic, and far happier than she could remember it being. It was frolicking, face kissing the moon as it howled. Then, the dog leapt into the scene, yapping and wagging its tail, and Prongs emerged from the shadows, as glorious as she could remember Harry’s patronus to be.

She placed the book on her lap, resting her chin on her arms and let her eyes follow the silhouettes against the moonlight. There was something tragically and unfairly beautiful about the scene, something that had her smiling for no apparent reason.

All she knew was that the slow beat of her heart had never been more comfortable. Her mind was peaceful and she wasn't clinging tirelessly to consciousness... Hermione was content. Because this was home. _The Marauders were home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS OVER 4000 WORDS AND I COULD HAVE WRITTEN MORE!!!!   
> I was so stuck writing this because I just couldn't seem to make it flow and I wanted to include all the details, like what Hermione bought her boys and the cooking/bonding scene between Mrs P and Hermione, but I just couldn't make it fit or find the inspiration to properly flesh out those scenes.  
> This is the last chapter at the Manor. I originally planned on only having two chapters but that's stretched into three, because I didn't anticipate how much I would love Mr and Mrs Potter. They will be appearing again! But I need to dive back into the plot.   
> That means next chapter is back at Hogwarts and will prompt some questions.  
> Was Avery the vessel? Is he a Death Eater?  
> Who sent Hermione the book?   
> What do you guys think?;)


	47. Chapter 47- The Trust

** Chapter 47- The Trust **

 

The countryside sped past the window, a blur of greens and blues.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had travelled on the Hogwarts Express, but she was certain it hadn't taken this long.

The Christmas holidays had passed far too quickly, and that morning saw the four of them, with Mr and Mrs Potter, on Platform 9 and 3 quarters. 

Both James' parents had given her the longest hug she thought she had ever gotten, and had said that it was lovely to meet her, that she was the best new addition to the family they could have asked for. Mrs Potter had to wipe her eyes on more than one occasion.

Now, they all lounged across the seats, sleep-deprived and evidently exhausted. Peter was curled up in a ball on the opposite bench, snoring, and Sirius and James were leaning on one another. Remus was stretched out, sleeping soundly, his head resting on Hermione's lap.

"I don't want to go back," Sirius said.

Hermione, eyes cast out of the window, murmured, "For the first time in my life, I don't want to either."

Her fingers were absentmindedly trailing through Remus' hair, and he shuffled closer.

Sirius looked at them. "What are you going to do?"

She frowned. "In regards to what?"

"Saving the world," he replied whimsically, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione scoffed, and diverted her eyes back onto the rolling hills. Eyebrows furrowed, James looked at Sirius, then at her and said, “We’re planning on saving the world?”

Her eyes shot to him. “We?”

“Well, yeah. You don’t think we’d just let you walk to your death, do you? You’re surprisingly danger-prone,” James said.

Sirius was staring at her. His face was blank but uncharacteristically sincere and he said, “Plus, we don’t believe in destiny.”

The train juddered, and Hermione glanced out of the window. It had gotten much darker now, and the sun had slipped out of view. Although she wasn’t sure where they were, she knew they were getting closer to Hogwarts, and that she should probably change into her uniform soon.

She looked down at Remus, who was still asleep, and flicked him on the side of his head. He stirred, groggily opening one eye. She peered at him and said, “I need to get dressed. Move.”

He did not move, merely smirked muzzily and burrowed his face deeper into her. When he muttered, it sent vibrations through her bones. “You’re undressed?”

Hermione frowned. Seeing as though Remus did not seem to want to cooperate, she resorted to physical means and rolled him off of her. His arms and legs flailed but the distance between the bench and the floor of the carriage was short, and he was on his backside before he could stop it. He stared up at her. She smiled sweetly.

Standing up, Hermione said, “I’m going to the toilet to change. Please be done by the time I get back. I know we’re close but that doesn’t mean I want to see you all naked.”

Sirius pouted, throwing his head back and wailing, “Darling, you’re just a rollercoaster of disappointment today, aren’t you? Hermione Granger: crushing dreams and refusing to see me naked since 1977.”

Remus just shrugged. “Your loss.”

She rolled her eyes and slid out of the compartment door.

The train trembled underfoot and she had to hold out her hand, just in case, to steady herself. The toilets were on the far side, and she passed several people, already dressed for Hogwarts, before she made it to them and changed into her uniform.

On the way back, Hermione folded her Muggle clothes over her arm when she heard someone calling her name. She turned.

Regulus stood there, a few metres away from her, frozen in the aisle. She stared at him.

He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from on foot to the other. He looked much younger today, his face pale and untouched by age. He seemed eager but apprehensive, like a small child.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” Regulus asked politely.

“Yes,” she replied. “One of the best I’ve ever had. What about you?”

He swallowed, ignoring the question and said instead, in a soft and carefully measured voice, “Have you figured out how to save me yet?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She’d forgotten that conversation.

“No.”

She almost choked out the word. Regulus regarded her through confused eyes and he shook his head, seemingly in wonder. “You care,” he said, as though the prospect astounded him. “And for me, as well, not just for Sirius. You were telling the truth. You care for me and I- I don’t understand why.”

“I told you,” she said, not looking at him. She didn’t know why, of all situations, she felt embarrassed, but she did. “You’re too good to fall.”

But Regulus shook his head and said, “No. Puppies are too good. _Unicorns_ are too good. I’m a Slytherin-”

“Slytherin is not synonymous with evil,” Hermione replied scathingly, loath to have to point this out.

“Not always.”

_-Draco Malfoy’s lifeless body hitting the floor; his last emotion printed on his young face-_

“Not ever,” she said firmly.

Regulus stared at her. “I don’t want you to lose sleep over me.”

She bit at her lower lip and said, “It’s not optional. Your safety concerns me, and you’re a Black. See, now that’s synonymous with _trouble_.”

“I don’t want to be a Black,” he said in a hushed and excited voice. Hermione, thrown off guard, didn’t reply. He acted as though it was a secret, one that he had never been allowed to voice until now.

“Then run away,” Hermione said simply. “Sirius did-”

“I’m not Sirius,” he reminded her through gritted teeth. His hands were clenched by his sides.

“I know,” she soothed. “But you’re the same scared little boy that he was at your age. You’re not so different.”

Regulus’ face contorted. “I’m not scared,” he spat.

“It’s okay to admit that you’re afraid,” she said quietly.

He shook his head adamantly, as though this vigorous denial would refute the truth. “No. It’s not.”

“You’re a child, Regulus-”

“ _Not forever_ ,” Regulus stressed, and his neck fluttered. That was when Hermione saw it. That was when she realised just how scared he was.

All this time, Regulus had hidden in the shadows, swathed in the temporary security of his youth whilst his brother received the brunt of his family’s anger. And now, that security was fast running out. He wouldn’t remain a child forever and one day, one day soon, he would be expected to descend down that same dark and twisted route that Sirius had begged him to avoid.

Growing up meant stepping out of the shadows, or being dragged unwillingly out of his safety net. It meant Voldemort.

She made a vow then, at the discovery of this sickening thought, to save her Slytherins. She refused to let him have them. Hermione would not let him taint their goodness; she would not let Voldemort destroy them.

The train stuttered, slowing down considerably, and they both glanced outside the window. The darkness of the evening had settled, and the scenery was merely a monolith smudge of black, but it felt like they were coming to a stop.

Hermione looked at him and swallowed.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised. He just stared at her and she turned on her heel to head back to the compartment but hesitated. Looking back at him, she added softly, “Thank you for the book, Regulus.”

He didn’t have time to say anything else, for she continued walking without giving him time. Regulus watched her go, and he smiled. For the first time, in so long, he finally felt _safe_.

**oOoOoOo**

"Avery!"

He turned around, that perpetual scowl marring his lovely face, but his eyebrows quirked daintily upwards at the sight of her. Out of sarcasm or surprise, Hermione didn't know. But since it was Avery, she guessed both.

They had arrived at the school mere hours ago, and were supposed to be heading back to their dormitories to sleep, ready for classes tomorrow. But a certain dark-haired Slytherin had caught Hermione’s eye, and after her interaction with Regulus, she’d be damned to let him get away. Throughout the holidays, she’d had to stew, itching to ask the question scorching her mind. At the sight of him, her heart had raced, loud and volatile in her ears. It was now or never.

He stopped walking, allowing her to catch up to him. As soon as she was standing close enough, his eyes flicked down to her wrist and his mouth curled imperceptibly.

"I see you're wearing the bracelet," he commented.

She looked at it, then back at his face. "Yes," she said. "It's pretty."

Avery smirked, sensing this was most likely the only form of gratitude he was going to receive from her anytime soon. He said knowingly, "You're welcome."

Hermione swallowed, staring at him. He looked more whole than she could remember him looking that night before the holidays, although he was still noticeably tired. His eyes were lined with smudges, dark enough to match his hair, and his cheeks were sallow.

_“For it to work, the spell must be channelled through a living entity with enough magic to contain it."_

His expression flickered, and his blank facade fell back into place.

"Avery," Hermione started, her mouth dry.

"Granger," he warned.

_"The magic manifests inside the vessel, like a part of a soul, a memory, and when it plays, the vessel gets drained. Miss Granger," Dumbledore turned and looked at her then, "if I am correct... then that can only mean that it came from the **inside**."_

"I know you did it," she said. There was no point asking, no point skirting around the truth. Avery's face only slackened- he gave nothing else away, but it was enough. And although she knew it, it still winded her. Betrayal still seeped through her skin and poisoned her bloodstream.

She recoiled and muttered, "How could you?"

Avery's face contorted and he shook his head. " _No_ ," he said in a low voice. "No. You don't get to do that."

"Do what?" Hermione demanded loudly. Her voice echoed down the corridor and he checked up and down to see if anyone was listening. He gripped her wrist and pulled her into the nearest alcove.

She wrenched her arm away as though he'd burnt her.

"Do what?" She asked again, through gritted teeth.

Avery dragged his hand down his face and said, "You don't get to act as though you're high and righteous and never make any mistakes-!"

"Of course I don't!" She felt like she'd been slapped. Hermione wanted to yell, but she was acutely aware of their location and therefore whispered furiously instead. "I make mistakes! I do bad things! And those mistakes have gotten the people I love killed! So don't you dare act like you know me, Avery, like you know what I've been through because you don't! Okay? You know _nothing_!"

She was too angry to cry. Even as Harry's body pervaded her clouded mind, and Ron's fading blue eyes and the desperation in Draco Malfoy's last words. He didn't know anything- not one thing- about her.

Avery was staring at her, and there was something very odd about him. It was almost like his facade had cracked and shattered, like the fragments of a mirror, and some were still in place and some had fallen away.

Hermione lifted her arm up to point at him and it was only then that she realised how much she was shaking. She said unevenly, "Don't try to worm your way out of this. Don't pretend to know what I've been through. _Don't_."

There was a ringing silence, echoing around the corridor, bouncing off the alcoves small walls.

"What happened to you, Hermione?" He murmured, lost. She faltered. That was not what she was expecting.

"I-" Truthfully, she didn't know what to say but her tongue started moving on its own accord. The words came out as an unsure utter. "War. War happened to me."

Avery's eyes scanned her body and he shook his head, "You're too young to be in a war."

"I'm older than you," she was quick to point out. Then, Hermione stared into his dark eyes. "What happened to you, Frédéric?"

He paused and said in a small voice, "He recruited me."

That one sentence, those three words, horrified her. He didn't need to explain- she knew what he meant already. _Voldemort_. She was too late…

She closed her eyes, **_'No!_** ' ringing like a siren in her mind.

"It was just before Christmas. He called a meeting but his followers had to take their children along," Avery continued. His voice was barely an indentation on the frigid air, and it seemed like the whole castle was holding its breath in anticipation... But his story was only for her. His words were for Hermione’s ears alone.

"We all went. What choice did we have? It turned out the Dark Lord needed a favour, a student. He'd already picked of course, had to use the most prestigious family to set an example- someone with money and status..." His voice turned dark. "Three guesses who."

But she didn't want to guess, because his little face on the carriage haunted her, the fear that infected him, like some sort of burden he was forced to carry. He was just a _child_!

Avery was waiting. She shook her head. Her tongue refused to work.

"He said the task was dangerous and difficult, that it could destroy the vessel if they were too weak but that it was an honour, a chance to show their loyalty. He was smirking when He called Regulus' name, like He enjoyed the crippling terror that he felt... I did the first thing I could think of. I volunteered myself in his place, grovelling and begging, saying I wanted to prove myself." Avery shook his head adamantly. He looked torn. "I couldn't let them punish him. He'd done nothing wrong... He's just a kid..."

Hermione stared at him, feeling as though she had been doused in something very cold. She said slowly, "You were the vessel. You were the vessel so Regulus didn't have to be."

He bowed his head, looking away. Hermione didn't know what to do, what to think. Her body was throbbing.

"You're doing my job for me," she murmured distractedly, running a hand through her hair. Her mind was on overdrive. "Except instead of saving both of you, you've gone and royally screwed it up by being a self-sacrificial lamb."

He heard her and his eyes shot to her in exasperation. It was the most expressive she'd ever seen him.

"Self-sacrificial lamb?" He repeated incredulously then paused. At this abrupt silence, Hermione turned to look at him. He was staring at her, revelation shining in his dark eyes.

"You're trying to save us," Avery said slowly. The words pierced the air. It was the first time she had ever heard them aloud.

Hermione swallowed, caught unaware but she conceded. "That is the plan."

He seemed to mull this over, eyes downcast. She waited patiently, but her heart was pulsating almost agonisingly in her chest.

He said finally, "That is a very stupid plan."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Outraged, she spluttered, "I- excuse you- I- what?" Her eyes flashed. "Says the one who volunteered themselves for _Voldemort_!"

Avery watched her with cool disinterest, although she could see the glimmer through the stony Slytherin exterior. He said calmly, "It's a stupid plan. You can't save people. You must let them descend to Hell in their own quaintly way."

Hermione pulled a face. "Oh please," she said, incredulity making her voice higher than usual. "You're so Slytherin, even a Basilisk would answer to you!"

Avery looked pleasantly amused by this.

She continued, "It's not about that anyway!"

"Oh?" He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "So what's it about?"

"Redemption," Hermione said firmly.

"Redemption?"

"Yes."

His eyes narrowed. He asked in a slow drawl, "You are aware of what that means?"

She scoffed, "Of course I am."

"Then how did you possibly reach the conclusion that I deserve it?"

Hermione hesitated. There was nothing emotional in the way he said it. In fact, it was probably this lack of emotion that had her so caught off guard. Avery seemed so matter-of-fact about the whole thing, like he had accepted the fact he was dancing with the devil years ago.

"Everyone deserves redemption," she answered in a small voice.

He raised his eyebrows. "Everyone?"

"Yes, everyone," Hermione snapped. "Are you hard of hearing?"

Avery stared at her. "Even Voldemort?"

She almost gasped, looking at him in alarm. She had never heard a Slytherin, or anyone else in this time for that matter, say his name. Shaking herself, however, she thought about what Harry had told her and Ron after his sessions with Dumbledore. She thought about the penseive.

Trembling, Hermione said, "You don't know what he went through, what pain helped forge the path to where he is..." Her throat felt tight, "Tom was just a boy who made all the wrong choices." The boy with the flaming hair fell before her eyes. The boy with the lightning scar lolled lifelessly in Hagrid's arms. Avery was watching her with barely concealed trepidation. She smiled a small, sad smile at him. "Yes, I'd give him redemption."

Avery continued to stare at her for a long time before he shook his head and said, "Hermione Granger, who even are you?"

She didn't know what to say. In the end, she just chewed at her lip and murmured, "You said you didn't want to fall. Do you still stand by that?"

Avery nodded. There was no uncertainty.

"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed. "Because I can help you, but it won't be easy. We'll be tricking the darkest wizard the world has ever seen. There's a possibility we could both die." She swallowed, eyes cutting into his. "Do you trust me?"

He stared back at her, bewildered. "You're delusional," Avery said and she swore her heart plummeted. But then a small smirk curled his lips. "Of course I trust you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Avery so much.   
> This is where it gets serious now. As much as I love to write about the lighthearted stuff at Hogwarts, I'm going to be skipping in time a LOT.... I hope it won't be too off-putting but it's crucial that I move the story on a considerable amount.   
> Like always, thank you so much for all your reviews. Please keep them coming! I check my email constantly for new reviews and they always make me so happy. I love how much you love the characters and the story and I can never really believe how nice you all are about it. I love you all so so much... But not as much as Avery!


	48. Chapter 48- The Potions Lesson

** Chapter 48- The Potions Lesson **

****

Slughorn's jovial face and voluminous moustache was not the first thing Hermione had hoped to see in the morning.

He stood at the front of the class, positively beaming as he announced there would be a new seating plan to help them all 'fulfil their potential.'

Hermione sat at her desk beside Peter, who had groaned and flopped his head on the table as soon as the lesson had started pretty much, and sighed. Slughorn was unpredictable and bumbling and the Head of Slytherin. She already knew this wasn't going to bode well for her, or any of them for that matter.

"Black! Mr Black," Slughorn announced, grinning. "You'll be sitting next to Mulciber this year. Over here, now. Do hurry, Black, we don't have all day."

Sirius trailed past her, looking as disgusted as it was possible for someone to look. He said, "I think you'll find we do, professor. The rest of the year, in fact."

She shook her head at his cheek, but Slughorn didn't comment, simply fixed him with a frown.

"Now, McKinnon and Avery." Hermione felt her stomach clench a little, as Marlene quirked her eyebrows, evidently pleased, and stalked over to where Avery had sat down. He didn't give her a second look and she deflated slightly, not used to being ignored by members of the opposite sex. "Good, good. Just like that."

This commenced for another ten minutes as Slughorn positioned the students around the class. Peter was sat next to Remus, after all, which he had all but collapsed out of relief about. There were only four of them left now.

"Potter, you sit here. That's right, and Miss Evans. Thank you, dear. Two very skilled brewers sat together," Slughorn beamed, clapping his chubby hands.

Lily was blushing and even James seemed a bit nervous, but he tried to play it off. He said, "Runs in the family, sir. Just like you say every lesson: ‘ _Fleamont was a potions genius, and it's a shame he wasted it on hair products._ ' Now you see, I don't think that's such a shame, I think it's pure brilliance. Have you seen my hair in a morning, sir? It's an atrocity. A real disgrace to all hairkind. But good old Granddad Fleamont reverted that and look at me now, I'm glorious."

From the other side of the classroom, Sirius scoffed. He had his arm flung across the back of his chair, and was looking effortlessly cool. He said, "I'm surprised you can see yourself in a morning with that very same head stuck up your own arse."

James looked at him, shrugging, and said, "It's a gift."

Uncertain how to react about this, Slughorn moved on. He didn't even have to look at his list, he swung around and beamed at her. Hermione, uncomfortable about everything her professor did, more or less, wanted to grimace. There was only one person left and her heart dropped to the very bottom of her stomach.

"And last, but certainly not least," he winked. She wanted to gag. "Miss Granger and Snape."

They were both hesitant, unwilling to sit next to the other. But, despite this, they obliged.

"Now, I expect great things from you two!" Slughorn said happily. Hermione stared at his face. He really did look like a walrus. “Now that that’s sorted, we can move on to what I can see you’re all excited for!”

If the slouched positions of the class were anything to go by, they _all_ begged to differ.

"Today," he announced, unfazed, walking to the front of the classroom. "We'll be making the Draught of Living Death, a potion of exceeding difficulty with the ability to cause the drinker to fall into a deep, death-like slumber. You'll have to work together with your new partner!”

The excited way he said this clearly showed his enthusiasm for group projects and as his small eyes fell on her and Snape, she knew he was congratulating himself on his partner choice. But then his face dropped and he added, “Please try to cooperate… and don’t blow anything up."

This last part was directed at Marlene, who grinned cheekily at him. It appeared his enthusiasm had waned slightly and he waved his hand, signalling for them to start.

"Don't get in my way," Snape said instantly, setting up the cauldron. "I prefer to work alone. I am more efficient when working alone and I know what I'm doing so don't try to correct me."

Hermione stood up, rolling her sleeves up and said briskly, "Well, I've already broken the first rule because there's no way you're doing this without my help."

"I don't need your help," he spat.

"I don't care," she replied in the same tone of voice. "You're getting it either way."

He fixed her with a poisonous glare that she knew would petrify most other people, but simply smiled at him and went to collect the ingredients.

Before she went into the store cupboard, Sirius dragged her arm and said, "If Snivellus gives you any trouble, he answers to me, okay?"

"No," she said. "He answers to me. And besides, he won't. The most he's going to do is break both my arms so I can't contribute and that’s not a problem because I have skelegrow and an avid determination that some call psychopathic."

He blinked at her. "Lovely. Right then."

Hermione scoffed at him, pausing to tie her hair back, when someone bumped into her. The collision was gentle but he simultaneously pushed her back; she felt his hand on her side fleetingly. She regained her balance and looked up.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't see you there," Avery said, in his usual monotone voice. His eyes bored into her.

Hermione frowned. "It's fine."

Sirius, still standing beside her, regarded the Slytherin through cold eyes and snarled, "Watch where you're going next time, you dirty snake."

"I said I was sorry," Avery replied, raising his eyebrows.

"And I said it's fine," she pressed, glancing at him. He tapped his leg idly. Hermione's hand slipped into her robe pocket.

Sirius looked between them. There was no point sticking up for someone who obviously didn't care either way, nor when it was against someone as freakishly tall and broad as Avery. "Okay," he said, reaching out to touch her hand, before he collected his ingredients and walked back to his table.

Hermione waited a few more seconds for the cupboard to empty before she scowled at Avery and went inside. He obediently followed her.

"Provoking my friends is perhaps not the most effective means of communicating with me," she said, her whispering voice sounding like a hiss. “They can’t find out about… _this_!”

She motioned between them frantically. Avery raised an eyebrow.

“This?”

“Us!”

“I understood that much,” he replied. “What is _this_ , exactly?”

“Our,” Hermione grimaced, “friendship.”

“Oh,” he said. “And why not?”

Her eyes almost bugged out of their sockets and she pointed to the door, exclaiming, “Did you not _see_ what just happened? They hate everything you stand for! _Sirius_ -”

"Pathetic," he said. He rolled his eyes. Hermione stopped talking, her trial of thought slipping away from her lips.

"What is?"

Avery raised his eyebrows at her. "Black. And you-"

"We're just friends," Hermione interrupted scathingly, knowing where this was going.

"Does he know that?"

" _Yes_ ," she snapped, snatching the ingredients off the shelves. "He does. Now, try and behave."

On that note, she moved to leave when Avery called, "I can't. I'm a dirty snake, remember?"

Hermione spun around and waved a sopophorous bean threateningly at him. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. There was a moment of silence, when Marlene’s laugh echoed loudly into the cupboard and they both looked at the door.

“Aren’t you lucky?” Hermione commented idly. He glanced at her. “Sitting next to Marlene. Most boys would kill for that.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes and said, “Your friend is very nearly retarded.”

She shot him a glare. Avery cocked his head and said, “Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t.”

He raised his eyebrows and a small smug smile curled his lips. She clocked it and her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied. Hermione clenched her jaw.

“What?” She demanded.

Avery raised his eyes lazily to her and said, “You seem a tad jealous is all.”

“ _Jealous?”_ She repeated, voice high from incredulity. “I am most certainly _not_ jealous.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling slightly. Hermione thought it was the first real smile she’d ever seen on him, but that thought was fleeting because he was mocking her and she was very irritated with him.

Her eyes flashed and she affirmed in a low voice, “I’m not jealous.”

“If you say so.”

Hermione threw her head back, letting out a frustrated noise. She fixed him with a stern look and said, “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re the only girl in my life. You should know that,” Avery replied smoothly, relishing in her annoyance, but his pleasure dissipated when she pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at him.

He regarded her blankly, nodding and said, “That’s mature.”

Hermione scowled at him again and stalked back to her desk, without another word, the note he’d slipped her weighing her down.

*

James returned to the table, arms full of ingredients. He let them spill onto the surface, beside the cauldron Lily was preparing. She glanced at him, before stepping back from the flame and tying her hair up.

“Are you ready then?” She asked, not really waiting for a reply, as she reached for the valerian root. His hand caught hers.

"Actually," James said, his entire body throbbing. "We need to talk."

Lily looked at him. He swallowed, feeling like he was going to explode.

She smiled and said, "That is a horrible sentence, full of suspense." But her smile dropped pretty quickly and she tucked her hair behind her ear. "What's up?"

"I can't pretend nothing happened between us," James said. "I can't pretend that I haven't loved you for three years. I can't pretend that I don't love you now. But I'm done. You're my friend and I can't lose you altogether because I was stupid enough to want more from you, because... Honestly, Lily, just being near you, is enough. Just knowing you is the single greatest pleasure I could ever ask for."

Lily stared at him, her mouth open slightly, her eyes wide. She didn’t say anything- she couldn’t. James smiled briefly at her and said, “I just had to tell you.”

He picked up the wormwood and started making the potion, leaving Lily Evans standing and staring and feeling a foreign sense of something else. Something else entirely.

**oOoOoOo**

Hermione curled up on the armchair in the Common Room, staring into the fire, as they all sat and talked. Peter was sat on the sofa, with Mary cuddled into his side. Marlene and Sirius were having some sort of silent staring competition, and James was animatedly telling the group the story of the time Remus got his head stuck in the magical staircase bannister, much to the latter’s chagrin.

But Hermione wasn’t really listening. Her hand was in the pocket of her robe, where she fingered the parchment indolently. She had waited all day to read it, the note Avery had slipped her in Potions, but refrained from doing so just in case.

_‘There’s a secret room on the seventh floor. Tomorrow- 10. Force Regulus to come and we’ll discuss your stupid plan.’_

Although she had scoffed at first, Hermione had to admit that the relief that coursed through her veins at the words had been sweet and tangible. In theory, saving people seemed a lot easier than one gave credit for. In practise, however, she had grossly underestimated how important _consent_ was. She was just glad that Avery and Regulus were willing to let her help them; even if they’d said no, she would have simply had to resort to more underhanded means. For once in her life, Hermione had jumped at the chance to take the easier option.

Obediently, she had contacted Regulus straight away, in the only way she knew would work. A quick detour to the owlry had seen a school owl carrying her Peter Pan book to one Regulus Black with the simple scrawl on the inner page, ‘” _All children, except one, grow up.” Seventh floor. Tomorrow at 10pm._ ’

Since then, she’d been thinking, trying to piece together everything she could to help her. If she was going to defeat Voldemort, she needed to find the horcruxes and destroy them obdurately, and this time, she would be thorough. Hermione had made that mistake once and she could not afford to make it again.

Harry had told her everything there was to know about the horcruxes in her time, and she knew that by the 90’s, Voldemort’s soul had resided in several objects; the diary, the ring, the diadem, the locket, Nagini, the cup… and Harry. Already, she could cross Harry off of the list, as much as it pained her to do so. His face, once the map to the magical world, one Hermione could trace in the air, even when he was nowhere in sight, had become a mere memory to her and although she was loathe to admit it, it was terrifying. She couldn’t remember her best friend’s face…

She squeezed her eyes shut, clearing her mind. She couldn’t be distracted.

That meant that since Harry still had a few years to be born that there were only six horcruxes, and although she knew what they were, Hermione had no idea _where_ they were. The sheer scale of the task threatened to choke her then. How was she supposed to locate and destroy six pieces of Voldemort before facing the monster himself, whilst keeping all of her friends alive?

She couldn’t.

That was the truth of it.

A hand crept up to hold hers and the feel of it startled her momentarily out of her thoughts. Remus, sat on the floor beside her, held her hand. He wasn’t looking at her, but he had reached up to tease her fingers and she could feel the reassurance in his grip, like he was trying to tether her to the ground, to him.

He tipped his head back, as everyone else laughed at something Peter had said, and smiled crookedly at her. Hermione stared down at him.

He asked, “Are you okay?”

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head.

Remus’ smile dropped and a slight frown formed a crease between his eyebrows. He held her hand tighter and murmured, “Why don’t you use your wish?”

“Because I’m saving it,” Hermione replied. “For something important, like the end of the world or homework help.”

His eyebrows lifted mildly, “Ah, I see. Yes, those two are very interchangeable.”

The corners of her lips quirked upwards of their own accord, and they both just stared at one another.

“Will you be okay?” Remus asked.

She thought about it. The road ahead of her was daunting. It would be gruelling and difficult and she knew, sitting in this bubble of happiness, surrounded by the people she loved, that too many would die. And the truth was, Hermione wasn’t prepared for that. But she couldn’t sit there and do nothing, not when she had the knowledge and the power _to do so much_.

She swallowed and nodded slowly. A small smile graced her face.

Hermione said, “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you so much for your comments. They're honestly amazing. You're amazing! This wouldn't be possible without your support so thank you.  
> Hermione is taking serious action now- there's no doubt about it. Is there anything you'd like to happen that I maybe haven't included or something that I have included but you want to read more of? I live to please:)


	49. Chapter 49- The Patronus

** Chapter 49- The Patronus **

 

Professor Meryl was just as small and round as Hermione remembered. She stood at the front of the room, having already cleared the desks and chairs to the side, facing the students, looking very much like a pumpkin in her vibrant orange robes and hat.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She remembered the last time they had done a practical Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson; both she and Sirius had ended up in the Hospital Wing. She prayed this time would be drastically different.

"We'll be learning perhaps the most famous defensive spell of all time," Meryl said, regarding them all with stern eyes. "And after the boggart fiasco, I'll be giving you some time to practise your technique before you show it to me. I expect you all to be supportive and mature and hardworking because this will not be easy. However, the Ministry has asked that we teach our older students this spell in particular. So, can anyone tell me what they know about the Patronus Charm?"

Hermione's heart swelled at the words and she put her hand up. Meryl beamed knowingly at her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"It's an immensely powerful spell in which the magic is supplied and projected by the caster's positive feelings," Hermione recited. "A magical guardian that takes the form of the animal with whom the castor shares the deepest affinity, is produced and it has the ability to push back even the most unconquerable beasts such as Dementors and Lethifold. A Patronus can be either incorporeal or the strongest form, corporeal. It’s, in essence, a projection of the soul," she broke off, frowning. "But, professor, the Patronus Charm is very, very advanced magic, far beyond N.E.W.T level."

"Indeed it is, Miss Granger, and that is why we're going to spend the whole lesson practising, thank you," Meryl said. She addressed the whole class. "This spell thrives off of the caster's happy memories, so it’s crucial that when you cast a Patronus, you focus on this happiness, let it consume you and fuel your magic. Understood?”

She had them all recite the incantation and practise the movement with their wands first, and then clapped her hands together and told them to ‘jog on with it’.

“Happy memory,” Sirius said, raising his wand and waving it a little. “Happy memory. This should be interesting.”

Hermione glanced at him. “It has to be the happiest. Happy enough to protect you from anything.”

“Might have to dig deep then,” he replied, flashing her a tight-lipped smile. She swallowed.

"No, not that deep," she shook her head, and smiled at him. "Think about us."

Sirius stared at her, his dark eyes boring into hers and his lips curled ever so slightly. His face softened and he nodded. "Think about you, okay."

“Think about that time I beat you skimming rocks, Padfoot,” Peter chirped up, smirking.

Sirius threw his arm down in exasperation and said, “Damn it, Peter! I’m trying to think of a happy memory and you bring up my only ever failure!”

“You’re only failure?” Peter replied cynically.

“Yes, my only failure,” Sirius said. “I’m a star. An actual star.”

Hermione groaned at the pun, but Peter didn’t seem to get it and he looked between them both, lost. Face screwed up, he said, “I don’t-”

“Just think about cheese, Peter, and cast a bloody Patronus,” Sirius cut him off.

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but trailed off and said, “I do like cheese…”

Hermione tuned out then and looked around the class. She could do this, no problem, and she didn't have to prove herself until asked. There were students dotted about, stood with their faces screwed up with determination and a chorus of voices reached her ears, and she felt a strange and melancholy sense of nostalgia.

And suddenly, she wasn't in her Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, but in the Room of Requirement, and the people around her were her friends, her family. There was Ginny, with her flaming red hair and freckled face, laughing loudly as her horse danced around the room, and Luna was staring, that perpetual wonder present in her wide eyes, smiling dreamily as the air was full of wispy pieces of everyone.

And there was Neville, whooping in joyous disbelief as from the tip of his wand shot a slither of pure white light. It didn't form any particular shape, but hovered in the air, like the frozen sparks of a firework.

Ron clapped him on the back, grinning as his terrier bounded over to sniff the incorporeal strands of light. His blue eyes were sparkling as they flicked around the room, before falling on her. His entire face lit up, and his mouth stretched wider.

Hermione felt her breath being stolen; it was like she had stepped back into her old life, and Hogwarts no longer felt different and her heart finally felt comfortable and safe in her body.

Then, his attention shifted behind her, and his smile softened. She turned around, curious.

And Harry was grinning at her, swaggering closer, and she felt herself beam at him. It was Harry- _her_ _Harry_. And she hadn't realised how much she had missed him until he was standing right in front of her.

"Having trouble there, Mione?" James asked and everything around her cracked and shattered, falling to the ground as lethal fragments of her world. His face swam before her. "Are you alright?"

She cleared her throat, shaking her head and said, "No. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. No, I'm not having trouble."

His eyebrows quirked together and he cocked his head. "You sure? You seem a bit... disconnected."

"I'm sure," Hermione smiled. James reached out to squeeze her upper arm and slid his hand up to cup her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm, and found that she didn't mind that it was James standing before her, and not Harry, and maybe that didn't make her such a terrible person.

His hazel eyes peered over his glasses and he said, "I think your talents are needed elsewhere, if the Welsh being emitted by him is anything to go by..."

Hermione turned to see who he was referring to and found Remus cursing under his breath. She exchanged a look with James, who bowed his head and pushed her forward.

“ _Cachu, fy duw, yn gweithio!”_

"You having fun there?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Remus glanced up at her, and a small smile stole across his face. He ran a hand through his hair and said breathlessly, "This is much harder than I anticipated."

She bit back a laugh. "It's easy once you get the hang of it."

A crease appeared between his eyebrows and he asked, "You can do this?"

"Erm, yeah," Hermione replied, and she didn't know why she felt embarrassed but her cheeks went hot when Remus' eyes widened. “I had a good teacher, remember.”

Impressed, he stepped closer to her and said, eyes shining, "Show me."

She stared at him, face softening as she took in his excitement. Hermione breathed deeply and lifted her wand, and she thought about her Marauders. She thought about every letter of every hour that Peter had written her over Christmas, and of the way James smelled when he embraced her and comforted her. She thought of Sirius' casual touches and the belief he held in his eyes for everything she did and Remus' crooked smile when he looked at her, and the feel of his fingers interlocked with hers.

And she thought about how maybe this hadn't always been the place her heart had resided, but it was now. This was where she belonged. This was home.

Hermione exclaimed, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

And she thought of home.

From the tip of her wand billowed a bright, powerful light, radiant and blinding in its brilliance. The magic exploded from her, and she could feel it pulsing through her veins, burning as though she were on fire. The light stretched outwards and then banded together, forming an animal. When the initial flash had dimmed, Hermione stared and faltered slightly.

Before her, regarding her with large eyes, was a wolf. It was beautiful, pure and white, and regal in its stance. She was vaguely aware of the quietness the class had succumbed to, and Remus' eyes bored into her, questioning and bewildered. Truth be told, she had no answers for him- she was just as confused as he was; her otter was noticeably absent, and she didn't know how to feel about it. Her tie to Ron Weasely was severed.

The corporeal Patronus padded over to her and nuzzled her temple and Hermione laughed slightly, before it retreated and leapt around the room, over people's heads and soaring near the ceiling.

She watched it in awe. It was the strongest Patronus she had ever conjured.

The wolf came back round, heading for her, coming to a stop. Hermione lowered her wand and although it flickered ever so slightly, her Patronus didn't fade. She reached up to touch its head. It was a strange feeling, not quite there but it was undeniably tangible, undeniably _something_.

It was magical.

"You can go now," she whispered, and beneath her fingers, the wolf bowed her head and faded away.

The room was deathly silent. Nobody dared to speak. Hermione turned to Remus, wanting to explain but she was breathing heavily and the words evaded her tongue. He just stared at her, stunned into a frigid state of speechlessness and perplexity.

"40 points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger!" Professor Meryl announced happily. "Absolutely astounding!"

But Hermione wasn't listening. Remus wandered closer to her. Neither one of them spoke for a while, not even as the volume and din of the room increased.

"It's never been that before," she muttered. He glanced at her. She was still staring at the place the wolf had disappeared.

"What was it before?" He asked.

"An otter."

Remus' eyebrows pulled together in a small frown and he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Well what changed?"

And honestly, Hermione had no idea.

They didn't speak for a few more minutes, immobile in the room of wispy tendrils and shouts.

"It must have been a good memory," Remus said finally, biting at the skin of his lower lip.

She nodded, smiling softly. "The best."

They continued to stare at each other before she coughed and said, "Come on. Try it again."

This demand jolted him out of his reverie and Remus lifted his wand and said, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

The only thing that was produced by his wand were willowy wisps, which dissipated into the air as soon as they touched it.

"What memory are you thinking of?" Hermione asked, frowning. She rolled her sleeves up and wiped at her forehead; the room was stifling hot and frustration was prominent.

Remus glanced at her, taking in her rolled up sleeves and frizzy curls in amusement. "Getting serious, are we?"

"Yes. I refuse to leave this room until you have successfully completed a Patronus," she replied, hands on her hips.

"We may be here a while then."

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "Okay. What do you need to do first?"

"Think of a memory," he said.

"Not just any memory," Hermione corrected, looking at him. "A very happy memory, a very powerful memory… Allow it to fill you up…" She paused then, remembering what Harry had told her. "Lose yourself in it…"

Remus' eyes were deep and steady as he dragged them away from her. He closed them, breathed in and-

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

The light that burst from the end of his wand was not as bright nor brilliant as Hermione's, but it was just as breath-taking. His eyes shot up, astonishment painted across his young face and as the tendrils of light groped together, she felt cold.

Hermione watched, and held her breath and waited for the werewolf to appear...

But an owl soared from the tip of his wand. Large and grand, its wings were easily two metres wide and it flew around the room. People stopped and stared. It seemed to give off an aura of pure, white light as it scoped the ceilings. Relief jolted through Hermione's veins.

Remus lowered his wand and the owl faded into nothing.

Eyes wide, he turned and looked at her, a crooked smile playing at his lips. Hermione made her way towards him, grinning, and threw her arms around his neck. His encased her waist, and he hugged her tight, lifting her off the ground.

When he put her down, she beamed at him and said, "You did it."

"All thanks to you," Remus replied, hair ruffled, still looking quite dazed.

"What did you think of?" Hermione asked.

His smile dropped ever so slightly, before returning and he scratched his neck. His cheeks tinged a light pink. “Nothing important.”

She cocked her head, puzzled and said, “Nothing important? It’s your happiest memory. It can’t be nothing.”

He stared at her, mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but Professor Meryl appeared, clapping him on the back. “Well done, Mr Lupin! I have to say I didn’t expect anyone to produce an incorporeal one, never mind a fully-fledged Patronus!”

“Thanks,” he replied, bashfully. She nodded again at him and moved over to Lily and Mary.

“Teachers pets,” James muttered. Hermione flicked her wand at him, and he leapt up as though he’d been electrocuted, looking at her through indignant eyes. Remus snorted.

“Miss Evans,” Professor Meryl said loudly, and the class all paused what they were doing to watch. “Care to show me what you’ve got?”

The three of them turned curiously, watching as Lily blushed and prepared herself. She inhaled deeply, and lifted her wand (her hand was shaking) and, screwing her face up in concentration, said, _“Expecto Patronum_!”

The light that erupted from her wand was dazzling, and as the wisps collected together, James’ jaw slackened.

A doe, elegant and beautiful, pranced away from her, and even Lily’s lips parted. It was evanescent, an astonishing spectacle as the doe trotted calmly towards various students; a corporeal Patronus. Lily dropped her hand to her side and it vanished.

Hermione stared at James, and she could see everything play across his face. Sirius and Peter had also seen, and were standing nearby, stunned into speechlessness.

“Was that a-?” Peter asked, trailing off.

“Yeah,” Sirius uttered.

“How about you, Mr Potter?” Professor Meryl suggested.

James’ eyes shot to her and he cleared his throat. Hermione had never seen him this nervous. He glanced at Lily and said awkwardly, “Can I, erm, maybe show you after class?”

Lily watched him, a frown marring her pretty face, idly wondering why James Potter would skip a chance to show off in front of the class. Professor Meryl’s expression contorted in confusion, but nevertheless said, “Yes. Yes, of course,” before she moved on.

Nobody else had noticed the change in his behaviour, but James knew what corresponding Patronuses meant. He knew his soul, and now, he knew Lily’s too.

*

The class had filed out of the room, and James stood uncomfortably in front of Professor Meryl.

“Let’s make this quick then,” she said, clasping her hands together. James nodded, and gulped.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and raised his wand, concentrating on that one happy memory and said, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_

The stag that blossomed was strong and magnificent, standing up proud. Its antlers stretched towards the ceiling. James knew it, he knew his soul, but seeing it like this was something else.

It strode around, imperial beyond all compare. Lily Evans watched from the doorway.

She was not an openly nosy person, but it had struck her as odd that James had requested to show off in private, where there was no chance to show off at all, and so, she had stayed behind to watch from the crack in the doorway. Admittedly, she had not expected to see this.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt numb. She had no idea what to do because her Patronus and James’ were a pair.

And he had known that. He had asked to do it after the lesson had finished because he had known that, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass her in front of everyone…

That feeling of something else returned, fluttering in her stomach, only now, it wasn’t so foreign. Lily knew what it was. And she knew what she had to do about it.

**oOoOoOo**

 

The seventh floor corridor was cold and Hermione stood in the shadows, rubbing her arms, desperately praying that no one was on patrol up here. She wouldn’t even be surprised if it had all been a ruse to get her into trouble. This meeting had been haunting her all day, and she found that she didn’t really know what to expect at all. What did Avery truly want from her? Did he want her to save the world? Or just to prove that she could save him?

She glanced at her watch again, for the seventh time in the last minute, and wondered whether anyone was coming at all.

But then, she heard something- soft footfalls, getting closer and closer.

Regulus appeared from the darkness, his porcelain skin shining in the moonlight that drowned the corridor. “Hermione?”

“Over here,” she whispered. He made his way towards her, until he was standing in front of her. She smiled gently at him and said, “Peter Pan’s your favourite book.”

He ducked his head. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Sirius used to read it to me when I was younger.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but her heart lodged in her throat at the image of the terrified boy, tucked up in bed, listening eagerly to the adventures of an immortal child, which his mortal brother read to him.

“Any reason?”

Regulus’ eyes bored into her and he said, in a voice that barely touched the air between them, “He doesn’t have to grow up.”

“Are you already having your heartfelt chat? I haven’t even gotten there yet,” a voice said from nearby, and they both turned to see Avery. He looked his effortlessly stony self, aloof and unconcerned about everything. Hermione glanced at Regulus, wanting to say something, but finding she couldn’t. Avery nodded towards the wall and said, “Are we going in then?”

Regulus frowned. “Going in where?”

A small smirk curled Avery’s lips and he said, “In here.”

He walked past the both of them, and paced three times. Regulus watched, bewilderment pouring from him, as the bricks started to shift, and the large wooden door stood in their place.

“How-? It just appeared!” Regulus whispered frantically, face twisted in shock.

Avery raised an eyebrow and said sardonically, “As if by magic.”

Hermione shot him an exasperated glare, and he regarded her coolly, opening the door and saying, “Ladies first.”

She obliged. The room had adopted a grand décor, with high arched ceilings and marble beams. The walls were a dark green, and there was hardly any light, only torches on hanging brackets. There were two long, elegant emerald settees, next to a roaring silver fireplace.

“It’s like a dungeon,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disdain. Avery raised an eyebrow.

“Home, sweet home.”

“Oh wow,” she said scathingly, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Next time, _I’m_ picking the room.”

He just stared at her. “But red doesn’t compliment my skin tone.”

She scowled, but ignored him, making her way over to the large leather sofas. Avery followed her, and Regulus trailed after them both. She could feel his questions, burning the air and got straight down to business. It would hurt less to just rip the plaster off.

“We’re here,” she said, and discovered it was harder to say than she’d thought. Hermione took a deep breath, “because we’re going to try and defeat Lord Voldemort.”

Regulus’ face drained of colour, and he looked as though he might slip from the settee, or faint. “What? I- Hermione, I can’t… I don’t… I don’t understand.” He got to his feet, frantic and said, “I don’t think this was a good idea, I need to go. I-”

Hermione bit her lip, wincing, and turned to Avery.

“Are you going to say anything?” She demanded indignantly.

“Oh, but you’re doing such a good job,” he replied. At her glare, he sighed and sat up, staring at Regulus and said, “The Dark Lord wanted you to be the vessel. I got you out of it. But I won’t be able to do that again, understood? You’re a Black, and He’s not going to stop until He’s got you under His thumb like the rest of your family.”

Regulus looked like fear embodied, but he sat back down, rigid but attentive. His face was frozen, and his eyes seemed glossy.

Hermione said softly, “I have information. Voldemort knows that, and he’s scared because he doesn’t know that the information I have can destroy him… for good.”

He stared at her. “So what you’re saying,” Regulus said, trying to control his voice. His eyes were wide and pleading, desperate. “Is that you can save me?”

“Yes, and others,” she replied, and her eyes found Avery on their own accord. He was watching her, an indecipherable expression cemented on his face. It unnerved her really, how little she could read him.

_“You can't save people. You must let them descend to Hell in their own quaintly way."_

“You can’t save everyone, Hermione,” Avery said after a while.

She looked at him incredulously. “Why do you think that? Why do you think that some people are beyond saving, that _you’re_ beyond saving? What have you done for redemption to be a preposterous notion to you!?”

His eyes flashed dangerously, and Hermione could see the Slytherin in him then.

“I don’t need your judgement,” Avery gritted out. “If I wanted to be judged, I’d simply owl my mother.”

“I’m not judging you,” Hermione spat. “I want to _help_.”

“Help? You want to save yourself! That’s all it’s ever been about! You know He’s after you and you need someone on the inside to ensure your safety. That’s all we are to you, isn’t it? Lackeys. If not His, then yours,” Avery snarled. Hermione was stunned into silence, her heart beating erratically in her chest and she could hear the blood loud in her head. She couldn’t believe he would think so lowly of her.

“Erm, Avery-” Regulus tried, glancing between them, but he was cut short.

“Speak another word and I’ll cut your tongue out, understand?” Avery said, very calmly. Regulus’ eyes widened and he gulped, nodding. He got to his feet and his eyes pierced her. “This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have sent you that note. I shouldn’t have sent you that dress. I shouldn’t have let you- Forget about it.”

He stormed away from them, and Hermione stood up, rushing to follow when she gasped in pain. Her wrist was stinging, and she felt blood trickle down her arm. Avery paused and turned to look at her.

She lifted her hand up, and saw her bracelet had morphed dramatically. From the gorgeous silver flowers, the metal had twisted and writhed, and instead of petals, there was a snake. The band had become its body, and the scales were individually carved and shining. The snakes head was on the inside of her wrist and its fangs had pierced her skin. She was bleeding.

“You’re scared,” Avery muttered. His voice was barely a whisper on the air. Hermione’s eyes shot to him.

“What?”

He looked at her. “The bracelet I got you is enchanted. When your pulse exceeds a certain number, it changes into that. Look like the innocent flower-”

“But be the serpent underneath it,” she finished breathlessly. “I- _why_?”

Avery walked back to her, slowly, and his eyes were steady and dark. He said, “I needed to know whether you cared.”

And Hermione wanted to yell at how foolish he was! It was tragic, really, how little he trusted everyone; even those with good intentions had to be proven otherwise. With him, it seemed you were guilty until proven innocent.

“Of course I care!” She cried. “I’ve cared all this time! Because-”

“Because we’re too good to fall,” Avery finished for her blankly.

“No,” Hermione said softly. “Because I can’t sit back with the knowledge that I let you die, Avery. Because you’re my friend, and friends do that for each other.”

And he stared at her then, with a little crease between his brows, and a little wonder in his eyes, because Frederic Avery had never had a friend. Or at least, not one who was willing to burn the world down just to keep him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN- The Jily part of this chapter is actually a headcanon that I found on tumblr and I love it so much that I can thankfully remember it so vividly. Unfortunately, I can't remember who the source is but if I find it again, I will update!!  
> What do you think Remus’ happy memory was?  
> Also, this was a key chapter in showing Avery's true colours. He IS a good person, but his family is in deep with Voldemort so he's bound to have a few issues... I still love him though and I am so SO happy at how much you guys love him!!!  
> Thank you once again!! I really like this chapter ahah AND IT'S OVER 4000 WORDS WOOO!!


	50. Chapter 50- The Fable

** Chapter 50- The Fable **

 

_Before her, regarding her with large eyes, was a wolf. It was beautiful, pure and white, and regal in its stance. The corporeal Patronus padded over to her and nuzzled her temple and Hermione laughed slightly, before it retreated and leapt around the room, over people's heads and soaring near the ceiling. The wolf came back round, heading for her, coming to a stop-_

Remus shot up. He cringed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to simultaneously wake himself up and dispel the image of the Patronus, but to no avail. The wolf shone despite it, haunting his daytime as it had his night.

In all honesty, he didn’t know why it affected him so much. Perhaps because, when Hermione had cast her Patronus, he hadn’t expected the projection of her soul to take the form of him. Or, he supposed, of Moony. But Remus didn’t know whether he was just being whimsical, or whether it meant something far deeper than what met the eye. He’d read about the spell before, in depth and he remembered being just as fascinated as he was now. He knew all about Patronus forms, how they were subject to change if the caster went through some sort of ‘ _emotional upheaval_ ,’ but Miranda Goshawk was a fanciful woman, and Remus found she tended to exaggerate certain details. Although, Hermione had told him that her Patronus had not always been that. So what had changed? What emotional upheaval had she encountered?

_“A magical guardian that takes the form of the animal with whom the castor shares the deepest affinity.”_

He hadn’t had chance to talk to her about it yesterday, as she had disappeared afterwards and he hadn’t seen her since. Not even Lily had seen her, when he’d asked. He knew it wasn’t his job, nor right, to know where Hermione was, every minute of every day, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was hiding something from them. Remus knew that her secret was heavy, heavier than most and he, of all people, knew what heavy secrets did to a person. His furry little secret, as Sirius dubbed it, was difficult enough… He couldn’t imagine the burden that knowing the future of the world would entail. He didn’t know how she had managed so far, never mind how she would continue to cope.

And yet, he knew that, regardless of anything else, he would stay with her, by her side, until the very end.

“Remus?”

He looked over in the direction of the voice. James was sitting up in his bed, looking bleary. His hair was all over the place and his eyes were narrowed, dropping with sleepiness. He smiled. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Remus replied.

James blinked a few times, before he said, “I have a funny feeling about today.”

Remus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, like he wasn’t overly concerned about this. “It’s just a feeling I’ve got, you know?”

But Remus didn’t know. He had no other feeling apart from the one where his stomach clenched and the urge to projectile vomit arose at the thought of the wolf. He disliked not knowing things. And he disliked feeling things that stretched beyond his borders of control.

“Maybe today will the day Lily finally confesses her love for you,” the lump that was Peter mumbled from the far bed. Remus’ lips curled in amusement, despite himself.

James threw himself down on his pillow and said, “One day, at our wedding, you’ll be giving your speech, telling stories of how heroic I was and how I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’ll talk about this day and recall how foolish you were to ever doubt my charm.”

Peter sat up at that, face contorted. “I can’t tell whether you’re still asleep or not.”

Remus scoffed, taken aback and thoroughly amused by Peter’s gall.

“Talking about Lames, are we?” Sirius murmured, only half-awake.

“Yep,” Peter said.

“You would be correct,” Remus added. But James registered something else.

“Lames?!” He repeated incredulously, shooting up. His eyes flicked between the three of them. “What is this atrocity?”

Pete said, in a matter-of-fact voice, “Lames was the name we gave you in, what was it- third year?”

“Literally days after he announced his undying love for her,” Sirius supplied. Peter nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right. So we created a name that was your names combined.”

James didn’t seem at all appeased by this information. “And the conclusion you reached… was _Lames?_ ”

“Lames,” Peter smiled. He looked strangely pleased with this, as though he had been waiting for years to reveal this genius to his friend, and had only just been given the opportunity to do so.

“What about Jily?” James pressed. His eyes were still wide, and his voice was still high from incredulity.

“Ah,” Remus said. “That was my suggestion. Apparently Lames represented your love life more appropriately.”

James looked at them all again, offended. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, and instead got out of bed and said, “I’m feeling too attacked right now so let’s just get ready and go to breakfast. You’ve confused me and I need food.”

The three of them shared a smirk, but nevertheless obliged. They each got up, preparing themselves for another day but not without Peter chanting under his breath, with mini fist bumps, _“Lames! Lames! Lames!”_

*

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, as they all walked down to breakfast. “So, what is it again?”

Peter was bouncing excitedly, and he said, “Lames is-”

James cut him off, “-an irrelevant and _embarrassing_ monstrosity of two names.”

“ _Yours_ and _Lily’s_ names,” she smirked. He shot her an exasperated glance.

“Don’t you start as well!” James warned. He huffed. “I can’t believe any of you. I reveal a deep, dark secret and you all just _ridicule_ me-”

Sirius froze.

Hermione frowned, glancing in front of him and she felt her throat clench. Regulus was stood in the hallway, immobilised, staring at his brother with wide eyes. He looked very much like a deer in headlights. His eyes flicked to her, and she glimpsed the plea in them, before he diverted his attention to the floor.

“Sirius,” James said, in a low voice. He was there by Sirius’ side in an instant and it was uncanny how quickly he had changed to suit his best friend’s needs. “Come on, let’s go.”

But he couldn’t seem to move. It was like he was cemented in place. Regulus seemed weary, and his eyes kept on cutting to his brother, as though he was waiting for him to do something. But Sirius didn’t do anything.

It was so strange, Hermione concluded. They were brothers, once united in a bond as allegedly unbreakable as a vow. But in that moment, they stood on two opposite sides of the corridor, and that divide was more profound than anything else. They wore different uniforms, stood for different things; light and dark, good and evil, innocent and guilty. But it didn’t matter in the end, she thought, because all of those things get tarnished. In the end, it doesn’t matter what side you’re fighting for, or who’s winning, or what you truly believe in. The only divide is life and death.

And it was terrible if only for the way it made all of this completely and irrevocably unnecessary.

Hermione touched his arm. “Sirius?”

He jolted out of it, shrugging her arm off of him and walked past his brother, like he was just another pointless occurrence and it was true. Tragic, but true.

The rest of them followed him. She lingered, hoping to catch Regulus’ eye but he avoided her gaze. She pretended it didn’t hurt, and sped up to walk beside Remus.

“It doesn’t get easier for him,” Hermione said, her eyes clinging to the fraying edges of Sirius. He was walking with his chin high, and an unwavering stride. She could see the arrogant Pureblood in every tensed muscle, glaringly obvious, like the costume he dressed up in to hide the crumbling interior. “Does it?”

Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “He’s trying to let go, you can see it. But it’s like hanging from a cliff and wanting to let go, when you nailed your hands to the grass beforehand. You think you want to let go but you can’t.”

Hermione looked at him. She had never thought about it like that before, but she didn’t have time to answer as they made it to the Great Hall and followed Sirius to the Gryffindor Table. Just as they were sitting down, she hesitated and said, “You know what, I’m just going to nip to the loo. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Do you want me to walk you there?” Remus asked courteously. She was secretly flattered by the offer, but scoffed instead.

“I don’t need backup in a bathroom.”

The irony of that sentence did not pass her notice, but she didn’t linger, turning on her heel and walking back out of the doors. He was still stood in the same position they had left him, staring at his feet as though he was broken.

“Regulus,” she said, when she got close enough. Nobody else was there.

His eyes jerked up to land on her. He looked deathly pale, and his eyes were pink. Hermione faltered but motioned for him to follow her into a nearby alcove as to not be disrupted. He did.

“Regulus,” she said again. Then swallowed. “Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t always this… weak,” Regulus muttered, his lip curling as he spoke, as though he was disgusted with himself. “Before… I was _more_ , I was better.”

Hermione stared at him. He didn’t need to elaborate what _before_ was. It was everything. Before Sirius left, before the abuse, before Hogwarts, before Voldemort. She didn’t know what to think. Here they were, hidden in an alcove, and Regulus’ soul was dripping out of him, and she didn’t know what to say. She’d heard the words before.

_“I was more…” she said quietly, feeling the need to explain. “When I was whole, when I was happy… I was more than this. I just want you to know that.”_

Hermione reached out and she took his hand, eyes searching his face, praying he recognised the truth pouring from her lips when she said, “You’re enough now.”

Regulus just stared at her, like nobody had ever really told him that. But maybe they hadn’t. Who would have ever assured a young Regulus Black that it was okay to be shy, and quiet and unsure about things? Aside from Sirius, who in his life, truly cared that much about him?

Hermione said quietly, “He loves you, you know. And when all of this is clearer, and better, you can be with him. Without anyone breathing down your back, without anyone judging or caring. You can be with him because he’s your brother and he loves you a lot.”

He was breathing deeply and asked in a quiet and unsure voice, “You really think?”

“I really think,” Hermione smiled softly at him, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

And Regulus nodded, believing her, and he smiled, looking less like a scared little boy and more like someone who had the slightest bit of hope left for him the world.

*

“Have a nice journey?” Remus asked pleasantly when she returned. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh, very. If only for the solitude,” Hermione replied.

Affronted, he said, “You act as if you despise our company.”

But she just winked at him and helped herself to an apple. Peter had a plate full of pancakes, and James and Sirius were sat on the opposite side of the bench. She noticed that Sirius looked washed out, half-dead, but Hermione couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better so she lowered her eyes and ate her apple.

"Where do you go when you need some time?" Sirius asked quietly, trying to keep his voice neutral. His words for James’ ears alone, and the din of the Great Hall helped with that. He didn’t want anyone else to hear but he also didn't want to worry James. It wasn't like he felt anything in particular, just low and a burning desire to be left alone entirely. He was used to this emotion, though. This deadness inside.

"To Death's door," James replied. His voice was sardonic. Sirius' eyes cut to him. "That's what dad used to say. The only place where time doesn't exist."

"What?"

James sat up straighter and said, "Okay, so when you die, you've already passed over the threshold of Death's door, yeah? Because you're dead. But some people, and this is rare, right, _really_ rare- some people get kinda stuck between life and death. They call it Death's door."

Sirius frowned at him, shaking his head. "How do you know that?"

James said, "When I was a kid, dad used to tell me stories. Ask him. He'll be thrilled to tell someone who's never heard it."

"Erm, James," Remus said, eyes following something behind him. James stopped talking, eyes wide and looked around. Lily Evans was walking towards him. She looked determined.

When she got close enough, he smiled softly and said, “Hey Lil, what’s up?”

But Lily didn’t reply, she continued walking until she was stood right in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes were sparkling. Her lips parted and she said, “It’s a stag,” and she kissed him.

Lily kissed James in the middle of the Great Hall, holding his face in her hands and closing her eyes. He froze, in shock, for a second, but gently kissed her back, cupping her elbows. He was still sat down, but she was small enough that it didn’t matter.

Lily kissed James and even Sirius was wrenched from his bad mood. Peter choked on his pancake and Remus was grinning, and Hermione saw that distant beam of light. The one in the form of a young baby with jet black hair and green eyes, with the biggest heart.

Lily kissed James and everything that had lingered unsaid between them imploded. There was no more speculation, no more _ifs_ and _buts_ , just skinny love, sweet and tangible in the air.

She pulled away, and she was flushed. She looked as though she couldn’t quite believe what she had just done. Lily uttered, “I’m sorry to take you unaware, I just-”

But James stood up, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her again.

The Great Hall exploded in applause, and whoops and cheers and laughter. Even McGonagall was clapping, smiling fondly. Hermione felt the euphoria rise inside of her, and she couldn’t help but grin.

They kissed as though they were making up for all the time they had lost being stubborn, because he was James Potter, arrogant and immature, and she was Lily Evans, headstrong and sweet, and they had both been blind when the greatest thing was right there in front of them. And now, here they were, a delicate tangle of limbs and tongues and lips and breaths, stolen and passed on. They were stars and they were thriving, existing within one another and it was beautiful.

Even as Peter somehow managed to swallow his pancake and chant, at the top of his voice, “ _Lames! Lames! Lames!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 50 CHAPTERS AND JILY IS REAL!!! FINALLY!!!  
> So many achievements in this chapter, wow. I originally had so much more planned for this but it's midnight here and I couldn't get the words out and then when I started getting the words out, the plan kind of went skeweeee. SO next chapter will be a bit more planning-to-change-the-world for you guys! And I do think it's time Remus spoke to Hermione because he's a silly, self-hating noodle who needs and wants love.
> 
> Since it’s 50 chapters (a milestone!!), what’s been your absolute favourite part of the story so far? And, as always, what did you think of this chapter? Thank you so so much!


	51. Chapter 51- The Star

** Chapter 51- Star **

 

Hermione stood outside Dumbledore’s office, her hands by her side. She hesitated to knock.

The last time she had spoken to Dumbledore, she had adamantly resolved to oppose him, to go behind his back and change the future, despite his wishes. This conclusion was concrete and there was no way he could change her mind… But the Headmaster had a way of seeing through people, and she wasn’t sure whether she could hide her intentions from him. Hermione had a knack of being unfortunately transparent, especially when it came to things that mattered.

She was still reeling from that morning, when James had finally kissed Lily. Even now, the smile fought its way onto her face at his shock when he’d pulled away, and the pure and undulated happiness that followed soon after. She’d received the message from McGonagall that Dumbledore wanted to see her at the end of breakfast, and had tried to mask the sinking feeling in her stomach. She didn’t dislike him. She simply had a few altercations with his methods of war, and didn’t yet feel like she could point out the flaws in his plan until she made hers fool-proof.

The door clicked open, just as Hermione lifted her fist up to knock. She cautiously made her way inside.

Dumbledore was sat behind his desk, moon-shaped spectacles hanging low on his nose, hands folded in front of him. He was smiling, and his leathered face much looked older than Hermione last remembered. He was also not alone.

As her eyes scanned the rest of the office, she noticed that she was in the company of three other men, two of which she was already acquainted with. Moody and Datner were stood nearby, dressed in their official Auror garb, looking as professional as they had the last time she had seen them. Even so, Datner flashed her a warm smile. Moody, disgruntled and not overly pleased to see her, nodded curtly. Hermione had to bite down the urge to smirk; it appeared Alastor Moody did not take well to losing, or being shown up by a teenage girl.

The third man had skin of the darkest hue and impossibly dark eyes. He was bald on top and stood at an easy 6 foot and yet, despite this stature, he didn’t come across as dominant or threatening but rather the opposite. He had a quiet and kind disposition to him. Hermione recognised the younger Kingsley Shacklebolt in an instant.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said genially. “I’m glad you could make it. Please, sit.”

Her eyebrows pulled together in a small frown, but she nevertheless obeyed. The Headmaster continued.

“I believe you have already met Alastor Moody and Pike Datner in one of your Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons last year. Mr Datner, here, was just telling me about your extraordinary duelling skills.”

“Slapped Moody around and served him for dinner,” Datner said, grinning widely. He nodded at her. “One of the most impressive uses of wandless magic I’ve ever seen.”

“And non-verbal,” Hermione added, smiling bashfully.

He bowed his head to acknowledge this and his grin widened. “And non-verbal.”

His arms were folded across his chest and he gave the impression of ease, leaning against the bookshelf. Moody scowled, his rugged face contorting even more so than usual. He didn’t reply, merely grunted.

“And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt, another Auror who works for the Ministry of Magic.”

Kingsley nodded in recognition.

“I imagine you are perhaps a tad bemused as to why I have called this meeting, in the company of three of the most able Aurors the Ministry has to offer,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward. Hermione had to admit, she _was_ curious. “I wonder, Miss Granger. Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”

She inhaled sharply. Yes, she had. And she hadn’t just heard of it, but she had fought for it, bled for it, watched her friends die for it… By Dumbledore’s expression, he had noticed her slight shift in demeanour, but did not comment. Hermione lifted her chin to show she was listening.

“The Order of the Phoenix is a secret organisation founded by myself to recruit young wizards and witches in the fight against Voldemort,” he elaborated, humouring her faux-ignorance. “Due to its relatively recent birth, I admit the meetings have been particularly sparse thus far, but I do hope you can help me change that. I wanted to request you join the Order, Miss Granger, despite your age, and tell us everything you know so that we can take down Lord Voldemort.”

Her interest piqued and then fizzled out, and although the prospect was compelling, suspicion soon arose inside of her. Didn’t Dumbledore want to preserve the timeline?

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Datner questioned.

“I’m eighteen,” she replied, then turned her attention back to Dumbledore. “Who else is involved?”

“Why,” he said. “Everyone present, plus a select few who will be attending a meeting tomorrow night if you choose to accept.” Dumbledore paused then, before adding, “I was even considering asking your friends-”

“No,” Hermione said resolutely.

“No?”

She sealed her mouth. The word had burst from her lips before she had the chance to wrench it back, but she didn’t regret it. She had no doubt in their abilities; they were all talented witches and wizards but they weren’t ready for this yet. Hermione didn’t want them to be ripped out of the normalcy, the childhood, they deserved- the very same thing she had had to sacrifice. They weren’t ready to be in a war.

She shook her head. “They’re too young.”

Moody barked a disbelieving laugh and said gruffly, “They’re barely younger than you are, pip.”

“Maybe, but they haven’t seen the things that I have. I doubt even you’ve witnessed the horrors I’ve had to endure,” Hermione replied, her face stony and in that second, lights flashed, spells whizzed by her ear, bodies slumped to the floor around her. Sometimes, it was like she was condemned to watch it for the rest of eternity.

Kingsley and Datner exchanged a look. Moody didn’t reply. She turned to Dumbledore and said, “If I’m going to be fighting alongside these people, they’ll need to know.”

“I refuse to jeopardise your position,” he said solemnly. Hermione gritted her teeth.

“With all due respect, _sir_ , you jeopardised my position by sending me away when someone on the inside was monitoring all suspicious behaviour.”

He regarded her through dull eyes before conceding. “Very well,” he said. “But only the people in this room. And only if they agree to take an Unbreakable Vow. Miss Granger, you’re sadly correct. My willingness to trust people will be my downfall.”

Hermione almost forgot how to breathe. Dumbledore didn’t even realise how true his words were.

There was a moment of silence where the three Aurors considered this. Of course, they were curious for whatever information this strange young girl held must be of utmost importance if Dumbledore resorted to such measures to keep it maintained.

Moody started forward, both working eyes fixed on Hermione in his signature distrustful scowl. He stopped when he stood beside her, in front of Dumbledore’s desk, and said, “This best be good, pip,” before he held out his arm. Datner followed his partner.

At Moody’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged, “I’ve followed you into worse.”

Kingsley moved to stand on her other side, and he looked down at her wordlessly. He must have seen what he was looking for, as he offered his arm also.

Dumbledore kept the Vow simple. There was no point over-complicating things; whatever they were to be told now, whatever information was about to be disclosed, could not, under any situation, be repeated to an outside party, regardless of affiliation or loyalties. The three men agreed, and soon enough, it was silent and they were staring at Hermione with a sort of ravaged curiosity burning inside of them.

She cleared her throat.

It was always much harder than she imagined- telling people about the future, that is. When she told the story, it sounded fictional and dispassionate and Hermione feared that she would forget the real people who had bled and laid down their lives in her tale. Then there was the matter of what she let her tale consist of, how much detail she mentioned.

Hermione swallowed and said, “I guess the beginning is as good a place to start as any.”

 

**oOoOoOo**

In the end, she hadn’t told them as much as she could have. She left out the personal bits, like the way Ron always seemed to figure it out before anyone else but never got the actual credit for it and the way Harry would go deathly numb when someone else was wrenched from his mortal grasp, but Hermione told them all about the Horcruxes and Voldemort.

And yet, despite the muted horror on all of their faces, she had been most concerned about Dumbledore. He had simply sat and regarded her carefully as she told her story, unaffected by any of it. She still remembered what he’d said about changing the future, and it bewildered her that he’d suddenly seemingly changed his tune now. Why did he now want to defeat Voldemort ahead of time instead of letting everything go to plan? Why didn’t he care about _tangling the thread?_

Hermione didn’t know. Frankly, she didn’t want to find out. As long as Dumbledore wasn’t opposed to her saving her friends, she didn’t really care what had caused his change of heart. She just hoped it would stay that way.

They had parted ways after an intense questioning session and had scheduled another meeting for tomorrow, with the remaining Order members. Tomorrow was about filling them in on what was to be done, and Kingsley had suggested she take the lead.

Since her departure, Hermione had headed straight for the library. Whilst her knowledge was passable, if she were to brief a team of highly trained witches and wizards, she’d have to know everything there was to know about Horcruxes. She didn’t have a pass for the Restriction Section but that hardly mattered, she simply _accioed_ the books on dark magic. She thought they would’ve had some sort of protection charm on to prevent students from doing exactly that, but it seemed that Madam Pince was not overly bright, or perhaps everyone else was just too stupid to have tried it, that it wasn’t a problem either way.

She sat there, reading, until night fell and the gas lamps switched on. Her eyes were drooping, but she couldn’t tear them away from the page before her. Hermione could feel consciousness slipping from her, and her heart slowed down-

“Hermione?”

She jolted back up. “Hm?”

Blinking, she found Remus standing in front of her, wearing the oversized brown jumper she had bought him for Christmas. He had a book clutched under his arm and looked both amused and concerned. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “Just tired, is all.”

He frowned, scratching behind his ear. “Maybe you should go to sleep.”

“No, it’s-” she checked her watch, and her eyes bugged out of their sockets. “6 o’clock? I have another three hours left, at least!”

Remus smiled exasperatedly at her and sat beside her on the window bench.

“I hadn’t realised how early it was,” she said. “In winter, everything just merges into two; dark and light.”

“I like it,” Remus said. “It means I can go to bed earlier.”

She laughed slightly, shaking her head at how utterly _Remus_ that was and they lapsed into silence.

“I love the stars,” Hermione said quietly after a while. “I guess that’s one good thing to come of winter nights, apart from the expanded sleeping schedule, of course. There’s something so calming about those little pinpricks of light.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You sound like James. Now that he’s with Lily, everything is poetry. ‘ _O toilet, do quench your watery peril and succumb to the love of my bowels.’_ ” Remus pulled a face and shivered. Hermione cocked her head, trying to stifle her laugh at the absurdity.

“That doesn’t even rhyme,” she pointed out.

Remus’ eyes widened and he said darkly, “Please don’t tell James that. It took him half a bloody hour to come up with that one.” He continued, “You know they’re just burning balls of gas millions and millions of miles away?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied. “But that’s boring. Why think of them like that when you can remember that you’re 93% stardust? Just think, long ago someone may have wished upon a star that you’re made of.”

She bumped her shoulder into his and smiled, before returning her gaze outside the window. Remus stared at her and he didn’t say anything for a long time. There was something so wonderfully speechless-invoking about her. Every little thing she said and did was like an additional phenomenon; she was a supernova and he was desperately longing to be swallowed whole by her inescapable explosion. He knew it was now or never. The kisses, the wolf, the flowers. It had all been leading up to this moment,

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. It had never been so clear to him, as he sat on the window seat, staring at her as she stared at the stars. “It truly is.”

And then Remus cleared his throat and said, “Hermione.”

She looked at him and he didn’t know how to start.

“Your Patronus is a wolf,” he said. Then cringed. “I mean- the animal you have the most powerful affinity with is a wolf.”

Hermione nodded. Her throat felt tight but she knew this conversation had to happen one of these days. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest. “I know.”

“That’s your soul. Your soul is me.”

In a small voice, she said, “I know.”

“And I tried,” Remus continued and he both looked and sounded torn. “I really tried. I tried to go on with life as though it was nothing, as though each kiss was nothing but I couldn’t. Because every time you look at me, I can’t breathe. And every time you touch me, it burns. And-” he broke off, frustrated at himself. Hermione didn’t think she was breathing. “I don’t know what this is or what it could be and I’ve never been in control of what I feel but all I know is that you silence every scream inside my head and I like that quiet.”

His voice dropped lower, defeated. “You deserve someone whole. And I know I can’t give that to you,” Remus said. The truth was so tangible in the air and so heavy that it threatened to choke him. Hermione just stared. “But I promise that I will love you with all of the madness in my soul.”

And maybe it was the sincerity in his eyes, or the brokenness of his voice, but Hermione found that the thrumming of her heart would not be still.

“I can hear your pulse fluttering,” Remus said quietly. “And I’m praying it’s not because I’ve frightened you away.”

And the way he said it made her realise that this wasn’t the first time he had heard somebody’s rapid heartbeat and it broke her heart.

Hermione said, “I’m not scared of you. You’re my Remus.”

And she pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips and felt him smile. She pulled away, but their faces were still so close. His eyes were closed.

“Can I kiss you? One more time?” Remus breathed, and his hands came up to hold her cheeks.

“ _Yes.”_

And so he did and this time, she savoured every breath he stole and focused on the way that his life thrummed so beautifully in time to hers, like it was inside of her, a part of her. Maybe it was, she thought. Maybe they were a part of the same star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is well after midnight here (I always seem to do my best writing at midnight, which is slightly creepy and irritating) and I don't know whether I'm just tired but the final scene is my favourite scene out of the whole fic. I had procrastinated writing this chapter, despite promising that I would upload today, and I think I'm tired because I am very very emotional about this chapter. I will protect these two until my lungs give out. They are both so precious and deserve all the love they can get.  
> As do all of you:) I hope you all have a lovely day or night, wherever you may be and thank you so so much for sticking with this (I know it's long-winded) and reviewing. I know I say it a lot but I really do live for your reviews (hence the regular updates). Thank you. I love you all.


	52. Chapter 52- The Order of the Phoenix

 

Later that night, when Remus returned to his dormitory, he felt an undeniable static all the way through his body. It was like every part of him had been electrocuted but his veins were conducting the current, and he thrived off it.

Someone had pulled all the curtains shut, but only Peter was actually in bed, reading that Muggle book he always went on about, about knights and dragons and epic battles.

Sometimes Remus couldn't help but wish his life was that mind-blowing and exciting, but then he remembered he was a teenage werewolf with three best friends who could change into animals at will. He supposed that was cool enough.

"Moony!" James appeared from the bathroom, dressed in his pyjamas, blinking rapidly as he fumbled around. He found the doorway and leaned against it. "You haven't, by any chance, seen my glasses, have you?"

Remus, although distracted, looked at him in incredulity and said, "How did you lose your glasses? They were on your face!"

"Ah, yes... That's a very good point. Funny story actually-"

"Are you telling the story again?!" Sirius' loud and exasperated voice echoed from the bathroom. He appeared a moment later, toothbrush in hand. Looking at Remus and gesturing with said toothbrush, he said, "James has been bringing it up at every possible opportunity he gets to tell people that he lost his glasses kissing Lily Evans."

"That's my girlfriend," James added, grinning and blushing profusely.

"I see," Remus replied, walking over to his terribly messy corner to salvage his pjs.

Peter popped his head over the top of his book, eyes squinting in suspicion. "What's wrong? You seem distracted. Normally, you would've made some sarcastic remark at James’ expense that we either laughed at or didn't understand."

"Yeah," James said, eyes flicking to Pete and back. Even though he couldn't see, he looked concerned. "Everything okay, Moony?"

Remus swallowed. He didn't really know how to say it but he didn't look at Sirius as he did. The stars twinkled behind his eyelids.

"I think," he said, wincing. "I think I just asked Hermione out."

The response was so silent you could hear a pin drop. They all stared at him, seemingly shocked into speechlessness. Remus wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

He said awkwardly, "Please. Someone say something...”

James' eyes widened theatrically and he exclaimed, "Under the settee!"

"Erm," Remus didn't quite know how to react to this. He said, "Preferably something that will make me feel less guilty and like I haven't just destroyed our friendship or her life."

James shook his head. "My glasses are under the settee." He pointed a finger at Remus, edging closer to the door. "When I am back, fully not-blind, I am going to tell you all of those things."

The door slammed shut behind him. Sirius' eyes were dark and steady and he didn't say anything, just turned on his heel and walked back into the bathroom. Remus scrambled after him, throwing himself into the doorframe, which he clung to.

"Sirius," he said raggedly. "I'm sorry. I know I should've told you or asked you or not done it at all-"

"No," Sirius said. "You did the right thing."

That was not what Remus had been expecting. And it didn’t make him feel any better.

"But I’m a shitty friend!" He said miserably. “You liked her…”

"I liked the way she made me feel, like I wasn't a lost cause," Sirius said, and he stared into Remus in that way that only he could, like he knew every vein and artery, like he could recall his design from memory. "But you make me feel that too, I love you, and Jesus knows you deserve everything and more."

Remus bit his lip to muffle a small cry, and nodded at Sirius' correct pronunciation, "Hey."

Sirius clasped his shoulder, before bringing him into a hug. Remus had never been hugged by anyone else like he was hugged by Sirius Black. With Sirius, he put everything into it, he made you feel like you were the only solid thing keeping him tethered to earth when he buried his head in the curvature of your shoulder, like if you were to be torn away right this instant, he would fight, tooth and limb, for you. Remus liked that feeling.

When he pulled away, Sirius punched him on the arm. Hard.

Remus recoiled, rubbing his undoubtedly new bruise and demanded, "What was that for?!"

"For not telling me," Sirius said matter-of-factly. He punched him again, in the same spot.

Bewildered, Remus leapt back and said indignantly, "I only 'not told' you once!"

The other boy raised an eyebrow and said softly, "Well that's for being so stupid and putting your feelings below everyone else's."

Remus faltered, and he managed to get out a feeble, "I just didn't-"

Sirius' eyes darkened considerably. In a low voice, he said, "I swear to God, Remus Lupin, if you are about to spout some bullshit about how she deserves someone better, I'm going to punch you in the throat."

Remus lowered his eyes, and he felt the shame crawling up through his body, making his face hot and his eyes wet. Sirius let out an agonised sigh and stressed, "When are you going to realise that you are more than your disease? It doesn't define you, Remus. And the sooner you realise that, the happier you'll be."

Remus just stared at him, and he felt a little bit closer to accepting this. All his life, he'd been taught that werewolves deserved nothing but death. His father had made that clear. And although his friends had tried to dissuade him from this perspective, he had never really forgotten it. Now though, maybe now he could forget it all and move forward with his life... Not as a werewolf, but as Remus.

They heard the door to the dormitory burst open and a loud James said, "You haven't destroyed our friendship or- hey, where did he go?"

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Hermione felt her heart thumping in her chest. For the second time in twenty-four hours, she was stood outside Dumbledore’s office, feeling again that hesitance and numbing dread seep through her body. She’d prepared for this. She’d led meetings before, taught classes to a bunch of vigilante students, helped front a rebellion so why did this feel so intimidating?

Because this was the group of people she would fight beside and save the world with, Hermione thought. That was the truth to it.

In all honesty, she could think of other places she’d prefer to be, such as talking to Remus Lupin, demanding what the hell last night made them. She could still feel his words tingle the air, and the pressure of his lips on hers-

She needed to stop. She didn’t waste any more time to deliberate what could go wrong, or what she was doing or think about a certain boy who she may or may not be going out with. She didn’t even knock, just took a deep breath and entered the room.

The room was not full. Not even remotely, and Hermione was momentarily thrown off at how few people there were present, and yet, perhaps it was the lack of people yesterday, it still felt crowed, united even.

“Hermione,” Datner smiled as soon as he caught sight of her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice of you to join us, pip,” Moody greeted gruffly from the front of the room. The other people there all looked at her. Hermione raised her chin a little as she progressed towards Dumbledore. She only knew him, Moody and Datner. Kingsley was nowhere in sight.

“Indeed, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster said. “A minority were beginning to fear you had gotten ‘cold feet.’”

She tried not to let this get to her and said, “You, of all people Professor, should know that I’d never miss this meeting.”

Dumbledore bowed his head, smiling secretly. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

And even though she knew he was prone to manipulating everyone, she still saw the honesty in him and it warmed her heart. They may not see eye-to-eye about most things (the only things that mattered!), but that didn’t mean he didn’t rely on her.

“So this is the saviour of the world?” Someone said and the amusement was laced into their voice. Hermione turned around to face the speaker and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Dumbledore regarded him and said, “Yes. She is.”

Stood by the dais, near Fawkes, were two boys, identical in every aspect, from there flaming red hair to their shining grins. It didn’t take a genius to work out who they were. They both had blue eyes, and narrow faces with freckles spattered across their pale skin. They were also both tall, but where one was lean, the other was stocky.

“Well then,” one said, the same that had spoken before. He was the skinnier, leaner one. He started forward, holding his hand out and said, “The name’s Fabian Prewett. And this is my less attractive brother, Gideon.”

Gideon cocked his head, arms folded across his chest. His eyes locked onto Hermione’s and he said lightly, “You can see who got all the charm. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger.”

“Hermione,” she said. “Please. Miss Granger is too formal.”

“Hermione,” he corrected.

She smiled at the pair of them. Another man, taller and scrawnier, with brown eyes and a mane of wild, brown curls, grinned at her. His hair looked like he had just been electrocuted, and there was a crazy sense of euphoria about him. “Benjy Fenwick, at your eternal service.”

“Don’t scare her away with that, Benjy,” the woman, who had been admiring something on Dumbledore’s shelves, spoke up. She had short brown hair and spoke with a very posh and well-informed accent. “I’m Emmeline Vance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“As we all have.”

The final man stepped out of the shadows and he clearly held some authority, if the tight set of his shoulders and demanding presence were anything to go by. He had stubble clinging to his jaw, and light sandy hair. Hermione watched him. She was quite surprised at how young they all were; they must’ve all been in their twenties, young and fresh for war. She focused on this, and tried to forget the fact that she had only heard of one of them. Hermione tried to forget that this meant they would all be dead by the time she had come from... It didn’t matter, though. That was why she was here.

“Must you be so dramatic Caradoc?” Fabian demanded. The man in question raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not dramatic.”

Gideon scoffed. “I can count off the ways in which you have been dramatic in the last five seconds, if you’d like.”

Caradoc didn’t say anything, simply stared at them, and it seemed the twins took this as the conformational go-ahead they were looking for. They both counted the points off on their fingers.

“Lurking in the shadows,” Gideon said knowingly.

“Snappy one-liner,” Fabian supplied.

“No introduction.”

“Opposition with no real cause-”

“We get the point, Prewetts,” Moody growled at them, and Hermione didn’t even bother to fight the smile that made its way onto her face. She now understood where Fred and George had gotten it from. “Now that we’re all acquainted-”

“Oh but sir,” Benjy said, his face innocent. “You haven’t introduced yourself yet.”

A large muscle twitched in Moody’s face and he seemed to deliberate complying or murder (his expressions for both were very similar). Datner looked as though he was trying extremely hard and unfortunately failing to maintain a straight face. In the end, he gritted his teeth and said, “I am Alastor Moody. You sorry lot know me already. And you, Miss Granger, know me after our duel where you…” he looked to struggle on the word, “beat me.”

Their guests’ attention piqued at this. Gideon glanced at his brother, eyes gleaming, and questioned fervently, “You got bested by a teenage girl?” He looked at Hermione, a newfound appreciation dawning on his face. “Maybe we have a fighting chance, after all.”

“What happened?” Emmeline pressed. Even she seemed smug at this admitted loss.

Moody grunted, “That’s enough story-time for today. We need to get on with it.”

Datner’s dark eyes fell on her, and he offered her the floor. He said, “Well, Hermione. It’s up to you.”

Everyone looked at her.

“I don’t know how much you’ve been told,” Hermione said, projecting her voice. “Or what you know about me, so I’m going to refrain from the introductions and tell you everything I know about how to bring Lord Voldemort down.”

The anticipation was frigid in the air, and they all listened attentively. Even the twins had sobered up. She took out her wand and started drawing in the air, cutting into the empty space with a temporary ink. She drew the numbers one to five. The members of the Order grouped behind her, exchanging looks.

She turned to them. “First of all, do you know what a Horcrux is?” There was no answer. Whether they did indeed know, or simply wanted her to continue anyway, was unclear. “Created by Herpo the Foul, a Horcrux is a powerful object in which a Dark wizard or witch conceals a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality. That is to say, if the original body of the caster is destroyed, their soul is anchored to these objects and will continue to reside there until a vessel can be found. Theoretically, the more Horcruxes one creates, the closer they are to true immortality.”

Caradoc clenched his jaw and said, “This is why that bastard is so hard to kill.”

Hermione nodded. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

“How would one go about creating a Horcrux?” Emmeline asked. “They sound like the darkest of dark magic.”

“They are,” she answered, swallowing. “Funny thing about souls, they’re pure, intact, and they’re supposed to remain that way. To split the soul is… inhumane, a- a violation, even. To split the soul, an act of supreme evil is to be committed.”

“Murder,” Datner supplied. Hermione’s eyes flicked to him, but she didn’t need to confirm it.

“One must eradicate anything humane about themselves.”

“That sick son of a bitch,” Caradoc murmured. She could see the horror on all of their faces, and she found it odd that, whilst yes, she could see the terrible nature of the situation, she had become immune to its awfulness. This was how it had always been, at least for Hermione.

“Okay,” Fabian said, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. “So these Horcruxes. Voldemort made one and-”

“Seven,” Hermione interrupted. Her lips had cracked, and she licked them. “He made seven.”

The room was plunged into a crackling silence, palpable and shocking. She didn’t know whether to continue, or wait for the initial wave to pass.

“Seven?” Gideon repeated, voicing what they were all thinking. “He made _seven_?”

“Well,” she said. “He’s _going_ to make seven. At the moment, he only has five.”

She gestured to the numbers behind her, immobilised still in the air.

“And do we know what these five objects are?” Moody demanded, raising his eyebrows. The gesture stretched a particularly nasty looking scar on his face.

Hermione cocked her hand. “Yes.” That one word saw many shoulders slumping in relief, but the next bit of information had them reverting to their previous state of despair. “We know _what_ they are… but not necessarily _where_ they are.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing!” Benjy said, trying to bring everyone’s hopes up. He failed.

Hermione turned behind her to draw in the air, underneath each of the numbers. Under the number one, she drew a diary. “The first Horcrux Voldemort ever made was as Tom Riddle. It was actually here.” Her eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who never reacted. “At Hogwarts. He killed a girl named Myrtle-”

“Moaning Myrtle?” Fabian quizzed incredulously. Hermione nodded, and he grimaced. “No wonder she’s so bitter.”

“He killed Myrtle and that was the first sacrifice his soul made, which allowed him to create his first Horcrux- his childhood diary.”

“Who knew the Dark Lord would be sentimental,” Gideon muttered. “I wonder what he wrote about.”

“ _’Dear Diary_ ,’” Fabian mocked, in a high-pitched voice. He mimed writing in a journal. “’ _Today, I got bitten by a snake. The snake died._ ’”

Hermione ducked her head to hide her grin, but Benjy didn’t even bother to hide his amusement as he let out a short but loud laugh, and reached behind him to high-five the twins.

Datner frowned in disapproval and said, “Do you have any idea where we’d find this diary?”

She sighed. “I have an idea… but there’s no proof that it’s there… and it’s too risky of a location to just search top-to-bottom.”

“Where do you think it is?”

Hermione hesitated, before she said, “Malfoy Manor.”

“Yeah,” Emmeline agreed, looking at Caradoc. “We can’t just go storming in there. It would alert him far too soon, and at what cost? For the diary to be hidden someplace else, after all? No. The negatives far outweigh the positives.”

Caradoc hummed in agreement, mulling it over. “Plus, whilst _we_ know Malfoy’s dirty, he’s still a recommended name in the Ministry. Too risky.”

Dumbledore, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up then. “Perhaps you should continue onto the second Horcrux?”

“Oh, yes.” Hermione spun around and drew a ring under the number two. “Two years later, Tom Riddle returned home and murdered his father out of cold blood.”

“Damnit,” Fabian whispered, under his breath. He looked at his brother. “Daddy issues. You were right. I owe you five galleons.”

Gideon just smirked, and returned his eyes to Hermione.

“With this murder, his soul split again and he created his second Horcrux out of a family heirloom, the Gaunt Ring.” She couldn’t stop the smug smile from spreading across her face.

Moody noticed. He asked suspiciously, “What?”

“I know exactly where this one is.”

The prospect of a lead was thrilling, and it had them all grinning.

“Well?”

“The Gaunt House,” Hermione replied. The twins exchanged victorious looks. Moody looked as happy as she had ever seen him, which was still rather grumpy.

“How do you know all this?” Caradoc questioned, looking at her curiously.

Hermione lifted her eyes to him and wiggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He regarded her, and a small fleeting smile curled his lips before it was gone. Caradoc raised his eyebrows and said, “And the other three?”

Hermione turned and drew a cup. “Hufflepuff’s Cup. Belonged to a Pureblood by the name of Hepzibah Smith, whom Tom killed in 1946. Slight problem with the Cup… I don’t have the foggiest on where that one is, or where it’s going to surface.”

“ _The foggiest_ ,” Gideon said, tasting it on his tongue He relished in the sound of it. “That _is_ an odd phrase. Is it Muggle?”

Momentarily thrown off-guard, she said, “Yes. I’m Muggleborn.”

Fabian grinned and said, “Sister’s hubby is obsessed with everything to do with Muggles. The amount of thingamabobs he’s brought home to play with is unreal.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Caradoc said, shooting them an exasperated frown. “So the Cup is out of the question for the time being. What’s fourth and fifth?”

“Fourth,” Hermione paused to draw a necklace, “is the Locket of Slytherin.”

“And do we happen to know where this one is?”

“No…” she said slowly, swallowing. Although fabricated, the image of the hands groping from the water, merciless and unyielding, dragging Regulus Black down into their depths, flashed across the front of her mind. Hermione stretched her neck, willing to dispel the goosebumps that had erupted down her arms. “But I know where it will be in two years’ time.”

“And last but not least?” Datner prompted.

Hermione drew the tiara. “The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. Wouldn’t have thought Lord Voldemort was an antiques collector, would you?” She said dryly.

The twins cracked two identical grins.

“Lost?” Emmeline repeated, dubious.

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “But not entirely. I know where to find it.”

“And that’s it, then?” Benjy asked. “This is how we’re going to defeat the greatest dark wizard that ever lived?”

“Well, then we have to hunt Voldemort down and kill the last part of his soul that still resides in his body,” Hermione said quietly. “But effectively… yes. That is the plan.”

The room cracked into silence. It was a lot of information, she knew that, but she wished that one of them would say something. She needed to know whether they were on board, whether they were willing to risk their lives and follow her into the fight against Voldemort, once and for all.

“Good work, pip,” Moody said, nodding at her. He was still gruff, but there was a hint of softness there. Hermione smiled at him.

She turned to the rest of them and said, “I know I don’t look much. I know I’m an eighteen year old girl who’s just dropped _a lot_ of information on you… but I know this is the only way to destroy him completely. I can’t do it alone. I need to know if you’re with me.”

“This is such an impossible task,” Caradoc said. He was staring at her, scrutinising her insides. She didn’t shy away. “Are you sure we can do this?”

Hermione didn’t waver as she said, “Positive.”


	53. Chapter 53- The Beauty

** Chapter 53- The Beauty **

 

"No," Snape said. They stood in Potions the following day, trying to immerse themselves in the task. "You need to _crush_ the bean, not cut it."

He shot her a withering glare, and moved to snatch the knife away from her but Hermione simply stepped out of his reach.

"I _am_ crushing the bean, Half-Blood Prince," she replied sarcastically.

He paused. She paused. Why had she called him that? What on God's Earth did she call him that for?

He was a very ugly shade of pink when he spluttered, "Did Potter tell you that-?"

"No!" Hermione said. Her eyes glimpsed his small black book on the opposite side of the table and she added, "I saw it in your book."

Snape's face slowly returned to normal colour.

"Why do you hate him so much?" She asked quietly, as they returned to work. It was only half to change the subject; part of her was curious as to what James must have done for Snape to become the person he had. There had always been something about Professor Snape that had had her feeling simultaneously furious and sorry for him. He deflated.

"Lily Evans used to be my best friend," Snape said, looking at her then away just as quickly. She followed his gaze to see Lily sat on her stool as James stirred their potion. She kept glancing at him, and when James caught her, he smiled and held his hand out. She took it. "But then Potter began to harbour a crush on her. We fought about it a lot and it became clear we had different loyalties. I called her something I shouldn't have... And I lost everything," he murmured. Hermione felt her heart break for him. She swallowed.

"Yes," she said, and he looked at her through pain-riddled eyes. "But that doesn't mean you should lose yourself."

Snape continued to stare at her, as though he couldn't quite grasp it that someone really cared. She realised that, just like Regulus, he simply needed to hear it. Hermione almost sighed; she knew that if this carried on, she would end up saving all the Slytherins. Not that that was a necessarily a bad thing, she just wasn't sure whether she'd have the time to do that and save the world. One monolith, self-sacrificial task at a time.

Speaking of saving the world, she felt someone's eyes on her and frowned.

Avery was staring at her, although his face looked vacant. Hermione jumped at the opportunity. She nodded her head in the direction of the cupboard, and got to her feet. Avery raised an eyebrow but bowed his head anyway.

"What?" He said as soon as the door closed behind him. He had his arms folded across his chest and looked about as uninterested as one could possibly look.

Hermione licked her lips and said, "We need to talk."

"Is that not what we're doing now?" Avery asked, eyebrows raised. She sighed in frustration.

"You know what I mean! In _private!"_

He narrowed his eyes slightly. Even though she knew it was just him, he still unnerved her greatly; she could never read him.

Avery stared at her, seemingly mulling it over. He said, "When?"

Hermione tried not to let her relief show. "Erm, tonight. Same place."

"Should I bring Black?"

She hesitated. Thinking about why she needed him, she supposed Regulus would prove to be a priceless addition. The Black's and Malfoy's were tightly interconnected... But he had another part to play. She couldn't risk using him just yet.

Hermione shook her head. Avery frowned.

"You don't want your puppy coming?"

"If he's my puppy, does that make you my bitch?" She flared, eyes flashing. Muted surprise graced his face, and then a small, short laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. Hermione stared at him, slightly taken aback by this blatant display of emotion. It was the most open she'd ever seen him.

Avery seemed to think so too, for his face shut off once more, but there was a prominent blush staining his cheeks. He looked mortified that he had just exposed himself in such a way.

He cleared his throat and said, "Right. Okay," before leaving as abruptly as he could.

Hermione remained in the closet for a second, convincing herself that it was just to give him time to leave without her following raising questions. But she knew it was more than that. Avery had just opened himself up a little bit to her, whether he had wanted to or not. She felt the smile curl her lips. It was a small achievement, minuscule in proportion to the unyielding walls she had yet to climb to reach Frédéric Avery... But it was an achievement nonetheless.

 *

"He doesn't even pay me any attention," Marlene said sulkily. "I lean across him, I bump into him-"

"You feel him under the table?" Sirius suggested pleasantly. Remus scoffed and sent him a disgusted look. He raised his eyebrows and said, "What? I've heard that works."

Remus just frowned.

Marlene groaned, throwing herself across his workspace. Remus wrinkled his nose and shoved her out of the way. "It does work," she said. "But not with him, apparently. It's like he's immune." Her head shot up, eyes bright. "Maybe he's gay."

Sirius choked. "Avery? Gay?"

"No, you're right," Marlene hummed and he looked smug at this. She cocked her head. "He's far too into Hermione."

Remus looked up from his work dubiously. "What?"

"All he ever does is look at her," she explained. "Although, stare may be more appropriate."

Remus was staring at her, caught in between silence and replying. Sirius glanced at him. He stretched his neck, shaking his head and said, “No. He confronted her once with Malfoy but that was it.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “They’re not friends.”

Marlene just shrugged, as if she didn't care that they weren't appreciating her observation and said, "Well, friends or not, he stares at her."

Her eyes snagged on something (it was Avery walking back to their desk) and she lit up like a cat that had just spotted a mouse. Marlene sighed and said, "Time to go flirt with a brick wall."

"How 'bout you just don't flirt at all?" Sirius suggested.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Now where's the fun in that?"

Marlene patted Sirius on the cheek, winked at Remus and flounced back to her table. She immediately started up the charm and, as she had said, Avery was despondent. She sent them an exasperated look.

 "Why don't you ask Marlene out?" Peter suggested, appearing suddenly at their side. He glanced between the two of them.

"She's not my type," Sirius said, eyes flicking away from her.

Remus looked up from his work. "Everyone's your type."

They stared at one another. Peter didn't seem to notice.

"Everyone's pairing up though, and you'll be left alone," he said. "Lily and James, Hermione and Remus, me and Mary."

"Mary and I," Remus corrected quietly, leaning back over his desk to write something down. Sirius rolled his eyes, then watched as Remus' hand raced across the page. His throat bobbed and a lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. He blew it back dismissively. Sirius looked away.

"Besides," Sirius beamed dazzlingly. "I'm perfectly content with my own company."

Peter snorted. But Remus looked at him then, not in any particular way, but it was enough to make him falter, and Sirius knew that maybe that wasn't strictly true... Maybe his own company just wasn't enough.

**oOoOoOo**

Hermione arrived at the Room of Requirement earlier than they had arranged, and she was consequently sitting in a small room with no green in sight. In contrast to the library she usually visited with the Marauders, the room had taken on the facade of a small lounge. The walls were a dark brown, and the sofas were long and comfy. Hermione had almost melted into them as soon as she'd collapsed on the one closet to the fire.

She sat, twiddling her fingers, idly hoping that Avery would agree to help her. He always blew hot and cold; you could never tell what he was thinking or how he was feeling. The only facial expression he ever made was the slight raising of his eyebrows, but even that was open to interpretation. He was either mutely surprised or exasperated- he'd been both in regards to Hermione. But he was crucial for this part of her plan. Loathed though she was to confess it, she needed him.

"I'll admit," a voice said from the doorway, making her jump. "I expected red."

Hermione relaxed when she turned and saw Avery, standing still, eyes scanning the room.

"It doesn't compliment your complexion," she replied nonchalantly.

He looked surprised but made his way over to sit in the armchair. His fingers flexed against the arms and he seemed to melt into the leather in approval. Avery said, "I'm glad you remember."

She scoffed. "It's only because I'm the one who has to look at you."

"Oh, I see," he raised an eyebrow.

"I couldn't care less about your complexion."

"Well," he replied. "That's positively inconsiderate."

They stared at one another and Hermione swallowed, the request being lodged in her throat. He raised his eyebrows.

“So? What did you want to chat about? I highly doubt it was simply about my complexion.”

She knew it perhaps wasn’t the most effective way of proposing her idea, but the words were slipping from her tongue and out of her mouth before she could grapple for them-

“I need you to help me defeat Voldemort.”

Avery stared at her. She cringed.

Slowly, with a blank face, he said, “You want _me_ … to help you… defeat the darkest wizard of all time?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Yes?”

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head and regarding her as though she was crazy. She supposed she was, in a sense.

“You’re delusional,” Avery told her seriously. Then he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose as though his conclusion pained him. “What do you need me to do?”

She tried to stop herself from grinning in relief. Hermione said, “I need you to sneak me into Malfoy Manor.”

“No.” She had barely finished her sentence before he refused. He shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. They’re too high up. What if I get caught? What if _you_ get caught?”

“Then I get caught,” she replied steadily.

“I don’t think you quite understand the repercussions, Granger,” Avery said, leaning forward. His eyes were wide as he stressed, “The Malfoys are high up in both the Ministry _and_ the Dark Lord’s ranks. If you get caught, it’s not just a case of being a most-wanted. You’ll be an enemy of the _law_ as well.”

Hermione didn’t reply. Her mind had already wandered, flitting through every possible scenario she could conjure in her head as the Slytherin rattled on.

“What’s more, Malfoy Manor is warded and full of people all the time. If we go, there’s no way you won’t be seen. And that would jeopardise both of us-”

“What if I was invisible?”

Avery stopped short. He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Invisible,” she repeated impatiently. “What if I was invisible? Would that work?”

A slight frown marred his smooth face. “No. A Disillusionment Charm is too risky. You might not be walking in, singing and dancing, but it’s still detectable.”

“Not a charm. A cloak.”

There was a moment of tangible silence as he considered this. His eyes were dark and steady, fixed on her face. There was no telling what he was thinking.

“Why do you want to break into Malfoy Manor?” Avery asked calmly.

“Because I need a book.”

His entire face morphed into one of disbelief and he scrutinised her. “A book?”

“A book,” she affirmed.

“Why?”

“Because if we’re ever going to defeat Voldemort, we’re going to have to destroy this book,” Hermione said.

“A… book?”

She let out a frustrated sigh and said, “Yes! Avery, do keep up. I don’t want to be here all night just whilst you get your head around the fact that I need a book.”

“Well you’re going to have to elaborate, sweetheart, if you want my help,” he retorted coolly.

This would soon drive her insane if she had to tell it to everyone all the time. Hermione gritted her teeth. “Voldemort tried to become immortal. To do so, he locked pieces of his soul in various objects and scattered them around. Destroy all of these objects and you can destroy him. One of the objects is a book, which I believe to be in Malfoy Manor.”

Avery eyed her wearily, and it seemed like he had completely disregarded her explanation, focusing only on the last point, for he said, “You _believe_ to be? You mean you’re not sure.”

She swallowed. “I-” Licking her lips, she diverted her eyes and said, “I’m 90% sure.”

“Oh, I see. That’s promising. The other 10% surely means nothing to you?” But he sighed heavily and said, almost in resignation, “So… what’s your plan?”

“To break into Malfoy Manor, search top-to-bottom, find the book and hide it away until it’s safe to destroy it.”

Again, they lapsed into silence, where Avery just stared at her. All he ever did was stare at her, as though he was attempting to pierce her skin and devour her soul with his eyes. Hermione didn’t know whether to shy away or let him.

"You are aware of how many books are in Malfoy Manor?" He asked finally.

"Yes. And I’m willing to flick through every one until I find the one I’m looking for,” Hermione said. Her voice was firm and resolute, and she knew it was true; for the sake of the future, she would do anything.

She stared at him, pleading silently, because she knew he couldn’t do this without him. She wouldn’t be able to make it within a mile of the house if she didn’t have Avery.

“Please,” she said. She hoped his eyes would pick up on the solemnity of her predicament.

Avery’s face didn’t change. “Your plan is terrible,” he said, and her heart dropped down her stomach. “But it’s nothing we can’t tweak here and there. Lucky for you,” he smirked slightly. “I’m a Slytherin.”

And there was an ambitious glint in his eye, as he shifted in his seat, that had Hermione thanking God for Slytherins and their adversity to failure.

**oOoOoOo**

They stayed there, planning methodically for another hour or two, before they went their separate ways.

Hermione had largely just let Avery take the reins, as he knew the layout of the Manor better than she did. She had only been there once… and once had been more than enough (she kept on catching herself touching her forearm, and had to drag her fingers away). Still, he seemed to know every room and corridor, where all the servants roamed and where was strictly out of bounds (and therefore, more likely to be hiding a part of Voldemort’s soul). Overall, she had been right; he was an invaluable asset. Part of her was excited to be starting up the hunt again, feeling that trickle of nostalgia wash through her, regardless of how dangerous and draining it had been in her past life. It all started here. There was no going back now, not that Hermione would even if that was an option. She knew the road ahead would be gruelling, but she also knew that she would stop at nothing until the world was saved. She refused to let it burn.

Now, however, her eyes were straining to remain open and she wanted nothing more than to collapse somewhere and let sleep overwhelm her. Saving the world was a taxing process and her lethargic body was paying the price.

She returned to the Common Room, expecting to find nobody awake for it was well after curfew, but to her surprise, a certain golden-haired werewolf was sitting on the floor by the fire, which was roaring and crackling, and casting a warm orange glow that ate away at the shadows.

“Remus?” She questioned softly.

“Hermione?”

He turned his head, frowning, and his face cleared when he caught sight of her. The firelight licked the scars that marred his pale skin. She swallowed.

“What are you still doing up?” Hermione asked, wrapping her arms around herself and moving to sit beside him.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

She looked at him. “Did you not want to go to your room?”

Remus wrinkled his nose slightly and said, “It’s not that kind of couldn’t-sleep.”

Hermione stared at him a second longer before she shuffled closer to him, resting her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He was so warm, and he wrapped an arm around her and they both just sat there, staring into the fire, hearts beating slowly, contently. They were so in-tune.

She felt her eyes drooping to a close, and her body relaxed into his grooves. His chest reverberated, and his life was the lullaby she was falling asleep to.

He whispered, _“Mae pob munud rydyn ni'n ei rhannu'n werth y byd yn grwn i mi.”_

She tipped her head towards him, her breath tickled his jaw and said tiredly, “Is that Welsh?” He nodded. “What does it mean?”

Remus’ throat bobbed and he twisted his neck to look down at her. “Hermione…” he breathed. “It means that I want to keep this moment, right now, in a bottle. Forever. So I can relive it whenever I feel down, whenever I feel like there’s no hope.” He gave her a small, crooked smile. “It’s my dandelion, I guess. My wish.”

She lifted her fingers, almost absentmindedly, up to touch the streaks on his face.

“I’m going to stop all the pain,” she said. “I’m going to save you all.”

Remus stared at her. His brown eyes were the steadiest she had ever seen them. “I know you’ve got the world to save. And I know it’s going to be hard for all of us. But- Hermione, I can’t think of anyone else who has ever made me feel this way. And I know that one day, we’ll all be bones in the ground, and then we will return to stardust and all of our struggles will be forgotten…” He cupped her cheek, and his thumb brushed against her skin. She could do nothing more than stare at him, captured and choking on the honesty being wrenched from his lips. “But I also know that it would be my pleasure to spend the rest of eternity with you, as pulse-driven humans and as stars… _because you’re beautiful.”_

And so, Hermione fell asleep that night, on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room, entangled in Remus Lupin as the firelight cradled them close. They fell asleep, not as human beings, drunk on a happiness that would soon burn out when the world got dark and drained of hope, but as stars… infinite, immortal and utterly beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such bad writer's block and I'm tired and I have so much homework. I think school is slowly killing me. I can't even keep my eyes open whilst typing this, I keep falling asleep!!!! Thank you so much for sticking with me and this story:) love you all and I hope everything goes perfect for you today


	54. Chapter 54- The Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... I had such bad writers block... First, I couldn't think of anything to write... and then I COULDN'T STOP WRITING!!!   
> I hope you like this chapter:)

** Chapter 54- The Lines **

 

And maybe they should have cherished those moments more dearly.

The ones where Remus and Hermione lay tangled within one another, legs and souls entwined.

The ones where Sirius laughed loudly, jumping and dancing after a prank had gone flawlessly, and his euphoria poured from him like a beacon of light that lit up the whole world.

The ones where Marlene and Dorcas held piggyback races with Peter and Mary on the way to Transfiguration, betting everything they had in their pockets, which usually wasn't a lot but the throwaway victory tasted sweet anyway.

The ones where Lily shoved pie in James' face when he dared to bring up the fact that he had gotten a higher mark on his essay. Only for him to rub his cheek on her, smothering the whipped cream between them as she squealed and tried to get away.

Maybe they should have cherished these moments, breathed a little slower, appreciated the thrum of their life a little more... Because suddenly it got very dark very quickly and these moments, the little ones, were hard to come by... And even harder to remember.

*

"If I may have your attention," Dumbledore announced, clearing his throat. His voice boomed around the Great Hall, echoing off the alcoves and high beams of the ceiling, cutting through the din of the morning like a knife of silence.

Every set of eyes relocated to look at him. He bowed his head.

"I tell you this now so that the alarm may pass your notice when your numbers drop. You may have already realised that a few are missing today. Some parents have made the decision that their children are safer at home in these dark times and whilst I can understand the distraction it may cause, I implore you to remain calm and concentrate on your studies."

His face fell solemn then, and his wrinkles looked deeper and more profound than ever. He said gravely, "This is all happening in light of the recent attacks. As you remember, the Minister has asked me to read out the names of the fallen, if only to commemorate their efforts to making the wizarding world a better place."

A hush broke out over the sea of students, twisting and writhing.

"Recent attacks?" Hermione whispered, turning to James with an incredulous frown marring her face.

James looked pale. He was holding Lily's hand tightly. "Nine Unspeakables were found hanging from the prophecy room in the Department of Mysteries. They'd been..." He swallowed. "Mutilated."

Hermione stared at him. “ _Attacks_.” Her voice shook. “Plural.”

James stared at her, and his throat bobbed. He looked torn, as though he had been hoping she wouldn’t ask that, because once he said it aloud, it all became horribly and terrifyingly real. Nevertheless, he uttered, “A Muggle family was tortured into insanity and fourteen Muggleborns are missing. A group of the Ministry’s top Aurors were sent to a Death Eater raid and they never returned.”

Bile rose in her throat, and tears pricked her eyes. Hermione forced herself to drag her eyes away from him, and she redirected them haltingly onto Dumbledore.

There was only one question on her mind, burning and choking her. It was there, everywhere, threatening to block everything in her body because it was blunt and terrifying: _what was this world coming to?_

"If you will be silent.”

Nobody dared to move, or even breathe too loudly. The school just sat, drowning in their silence, because that was all they could really do lest they surrender to the thudding of their own hearts.

“Tracey Lorcaster.”

“Marlin Rarker.”

“Dimitri Pentalov.”

And the list went on. For that's what lists tend to do, and each name was like a cannon or a shrill bell going off in Hermione's mind. She couldn't remember this much pain the first time round. She couldn't remember this much horror in the build-up.

But as Lily, sitting beside her, gently held her hand, Hermione knew that it would be okay. Because no matter how many people have fallen, you've still got to push on through. And they would. She knew it.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

“Reparifarge,” McGonagall repeated impatiently, making sure to properly enunciate her consonants. The class perhaps spared her a glance or two, but their frustration was pulsing, and they didn’t really pay her too much attention. Everyone, it seemed, was bored and sick to death of the fact that their teapot refused ( _adamantly_!) to return to its former state of whatever poor animal they had been given.

McGonagall had already given them a quick briefing of this form of Untransfiguration; which was just as the name suggested. She had claimed it was the most difficult form of Transfiguration, necessary for their NEWT qualifications. She had even instructed them on how to say it and how to move their wands, but none of her seventh year students seemed to be even the slightest bit immersed in the task. Their gestures were jilted and rash, their incantations half-hearted. She pursed her lips and watched them. There was some sort of untamed electricity in the air, and McGonagall wasn’t sure whether it was because they were all stressed at the thought of their upcoming exams or because they could feel that undeniable pull that something, something big, was coming.

That was a lie.

She knew exactly which one it was.

“Well, if Hermione can’t do it, no-one can!” Sirius exclaimed, huffing and throwing himself down onto the nearest desk. His cheeks were tinged pink and his voice was loud and boisterous, even more so than usual.

Hermione sighed, looking at him. Truth be told, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the heart to try. But Sirius didn’t need to broadcast that.

“Let her be, Padfoot,” Remus said quietly, coming to stand beside her. “I don’t think anyone’s in the mood to really bother today.”

“Why, you’re all so melancholy. It makes me sick,” Sirius grimaced. Hermione looked at him, unsure whether he was joking. He wasn’t. But she guessed that was just him; when everyone else was sad, he seemed to be extra happy in order to compensate.

Remus simply stared at him. “Remember what we talked about? About acknowledging other people’s feelings?”

Sirius never wavered as he said, “Yes. But then I succumb to the darkness of the world and you and I both know I can’t do that. It’s not real. It will pass soon enough, just like it always does.”

They didn’t even falter in their eye contact, looking, not at one another, but _into_ one another and Hermione swallowed. They were sharing a look; the kind of look indecipherable to anyone outside of the exchange, and it felt rude to watch, so she didn’t.

A scream, however, felt no such courtesy, and tore through their silent conversation, dragging their attention away. Everybody in the class’ head shot in the direction of the sound.

Marlene was doubled over, her thick blonde hair ragged and limp around her head, like a curtain. She seemed to be crying; angry, frustrated tears that fell hot and fast down her cheeks. Sirius’ face cleared immediately.

“Miss McKinnon,” McGonagall began, sweeping forward. “Miss McKinnon, whatever is the matter?”

“Everything is shit…” Marlene whimpered. Then her fists clenched and she screamed, “I can’t do it anymore! Because everything is shit and people are dying and some kid came up to me this morning and asked me if I could walk her to the bathroom because she was scared she’d be attacked on the way there! I- why did she ask me that?” Her face was red and wet, and she looked genuinely troubled, like the whole idea confused her terribly. Then, her expression contorted and she cried, “What kind of _fucking_ world is this for a twelve year old to have to ask me that? Huh?”

And she cried, sobbed, losing it completely. Dorcas was there in a heartbeat, and Mary. But Hermione couldn’t even move. All she could do was stand, and stare, and watch as Marlene was dragged out of the room, screaming, because she had lost it. Because her strings had been plucked.

The door slammed shut behind them, and the cutting quiet was a harsh reality check. Nobody seemed to know what to do.

“Well then,” McGonagall said. She appeared less composed than she usually was. “What are you all waiting for? Christmas? Carry on.”

And just like that, life resumed.

Remus glanced at Sirius, whose eyes were still glued on the place Marlene had been standing. “You still think it’s going to pass?”

But the latter didn’t reply. Hermione wanted to say something, to tell them both that she had seen war before and that it was possible to endure, that they would all make it out alive and well...

But she couldn't. The words evaded her tongue and she wondered whether it was the result of the weight of them or the fact that she couldn't make that promise. Because the truth was... She didn't know.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

_“There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,_

_And my spirit is crying for leaving.”_

Sirius sang at the top of his voice as the nine of them stepped onto the Quidditch Pitch. Night was falling slowly, and the sunlight streaked down all around them, picking out the gold and making the world glitter. Hermione moved closer into Remus’ side, and he smiled down at her, resting his nose briefly against her forehead. The day had passed agonisingly slowly, and Marlene hadn’t returned to her lessons. It was James’ idea to get out for a while. And it was a good one; the confines of the castle might be reassuring, but it was stuffy- fear spread like an infection.

_“In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,_

_And the voices of those who stand looking!”_

Sirius tipped his head back, throwing his arms behind him and sang loudly, _“Ooh, it makes me wonder. Ooh, it really makes me wonder!”_

Hermione felt a smile pull at her lips. There was a slight wind, picking up his long hair and jacket and whipping it behind him. His cheeks were tinged pink, his eyes were shut and there was a lazy grin stretching his face. Sirius looked so unrestrained… so free. She wanted him to feel like this his whole life.

_“And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,_

_Then the piper will lead us to reason.”_

And he ran forward, spinning in circles with his arms in the air, head tilted towards the dying sun, who just watched him, regretting the fact that it would soon perish to the darkness and cease to witness this display of youth, because youth was ephemeral and you had to gulp as much as you could before it withered. Sirius collapsed soon enough, falling backwards and just lying there, staring at the sky. They all reached him, dropping to the ground beside him. Mary had her arms wrapped around Peter; Dorcas and Marlene were close but not touching; Lily and James’ fingers were interlocked. Hermione leaned against Remus’ legs.

_“And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,_

_And the forests will echo with laughter.”_

Sirius finished singing, and she found he had quite a pleasant voice, the right amount of husky and strong for it to sound nice. She whooped, laughing when James and Peter applauded and he stuck his hand up and twirled it to mimic bowing.

Mary leaped into action suddenly, as though she had just remembered something. She reached for Peter’s hand, her dark skin dimpling with a big grin.

“What-?” Peter barely had time to question before she cut him off excitedly.

“I learnt how to read palms today!” Mary told them. Lily and Hermione exchanged a glance.

“You do know that’s not a proper form of magic?”  Hermione said.

Unaffected, Mary blew a stray curl from out of her face and said, “Ah, ever the cynic.”

She tugged Peter’s hand closer to her (the poor boy’s eyes shot out of his head as he scrambled to acquiesce). Sirius spoke up abruptly, “I know what your palm says, Pete. It says you’re a fucking nerd!”

There was a sound of exasperation from James, as with his free hand, Peter directed a particularly crude gesture towards his friend, who had collapsed in a fit of laughter, arms clutched around his gut, rolling on the floor.

“You’re a dick,” Dorcas said, but he ignored her.

“Sirius, you’re incredibly devoid of human empathy today,” Remus pointed out lightly once he had calmed down, a small crease between his eyebrows.

Sirius just let his head loll to the side so he could see him, and said, “Shut up, freckles.”

Remus blushed and looked away.

Mary dismissed them all and said, "Your Marriage line has an overlap.” She raised her eyes to Peter’s. “People think that’s to do with romance, but it’s really just any bond. An overlap means separation and later, reunion…” She refocused her attention on his hand. “Your lines are… kind of branching off. I think that means you’re going to lose control of something… And your head line is sorta hooked…”

Peter’s face was contorted slightly, like he didn’t really know what to do with this information. Mary just shrugged, giving him a small smile.

“Good thing it’s all codswallop then, eh Pete?” James said, grinning.

Mary sniffed indignantly, although she didn’t seem to care too much. Lily smacked him, chastising, “Don’t be rude.”

“Don’t take it personally, Mary,” Dorcas said, smiling slightly. “I don’t doubt your physic ability one bit. Remember when you predicted my boyfriend was cheating on me, and Peeves found him with his hand up Amelia Tonkhirst’s shirt the next day?”

“That was a good day,” Mary replied. She added hastily, “Not for you, of course.”

Dorcas just snorted, and rested her head against Marlene’s, who had her knees tucked up under her chin and was uncharacteristically neutral on the subject.

“Does anyone else want me to read their palm?” Mary offered, looking at each of them with wide eyes. Hermione tried to avoid her gaze, but it was futile; her eyes seemed to fall on her anyway. “Hermione!” She announced happily, holding her hand out. “Come on. I’ve never examined a cynic before!”

Hermione opened her mouth, hesitating, but Lily beat her to it, “Go on, Mione,” she beamed secretively. “She might be able to convert you!”

The look Hermione sent her affirmed the low probability of that, and had Lily stifling a laugh. Nevertheless, she shuffled over to where Mary was sitting, and offered her hand.

Mary swooped on her before she could change her mind, scrutinising her palm like a disbeliever. She made a lot of incoherent noises under her breath, a chorus of hums and whistles and small “ _Oh’s_!”. Hermione took this time to scowl at Lily, who was biting back a smile. She raised her eyebrows in reply.

“That’s weird. Your palm is super busy…” Mary said, frowning. “Your Head line is deep… That means your memories are complex and abundant. And your Fate line starts clearly at your wrist, but then joins your Life line… I think that symbolises a sacrifice.” She paused then and looked at Hermione, hesitation playing across her face. “You have… a star on your palm.”

The tone she used made Hermione feel like this information should mean something to her, but it didn’t. She prompted, “So? What’s the significance of a star?”

“Is it Canis Major?” Sirius asked, suddenly interested.

Mary didn’t even spare him a glance when she said patiently, “That’s a constellation, Sirius.”

He frowned, then his eyes lit up once more. “Is it _me?_ ”

Hermione scoffed, shooting him a look. She said scathingly, “And why would you be on my hand?”

“Because I’m a God and you worship me?” He answered in the same tone. She didn’t even dignify him with a response.

“No,” Mary muttered, distracted. “Stars usually mean success, especially if they’re at the end of lines…”

Hermione felt the hairs on her arm stand up at the unspoken clause, which echoed between them. She swallowed. “But?”

“Stars on the Life line represent turmoil, chaos, and… yours is at the end of your Life line.”

They all seemed to be staring at her. She didn’t believe in this, not one bit. There was no way anyone could see the future, least of all from the grooves in someone’s skin! But Hermione couldn’t deny that it scared her. “So that means that the chaos is going to be successful? Or… I’m going to be successful at inflicting chaos?”

Sirius hummed in thought. “Both are unappealing scenarios.”

Mary was quick to appease her, “It doesn’t necessarily mean that, though. I’m a novice. Everything I’ve just said could be poppycock.” She tried to laugh but it seemed like she choked on the sound.

They were all waiting for her to speak, to say something, anything.

“Good thing I don’t believe in destiny, huh?” Hermione said, raising her head and smiling slightly. James was staring at her, and she wasn’t quite sure whether she was trying to convince her friends, or trying to convince herself.

She moved back over to sit with Remus, whose arm looped around her as soon as she got close enough. He pressed his lips into the hair above her ear and said, “It doesn’t mean anything. There’s no such thing as fool-proof divination.”

“I know,” Hermione murmured. But there was still something nagging at the back of her mind, something curious and looming, that she just couldn’t shake herself of.

“Potter! Give me your hand!” Mary demanded next, and there was something stoic both in her voice and face that had James, albeit unwillingly, crawling over to show her his palm. She wrenched it, and he stumbled forwards. Lily and Sirius laughed loudly.

Ears pink and glasses askew, James sat cross-legged whilst Mary examined his hand. There was a moment of silence, before she exclaimed, making him jump backwards, “Jiminy Cricket! You have a lot of dots!”

“Mary!” He admonished. “You frightened the living daylights out of me! Don’t _do_ that!”

She blushed and muttered an apology, taking his hand again.

“What do dots mean anyway?” James asked, nervousness tinging his voice.

“I thought it was a load of codswallop?” She asked slyly.

He fumbled for words. “Well, _yes_! But I still want to know whether I’m going to die young! I have lots of things I want to do. For example, get my own place, watch my best friends grow up into amazing people, marry the love of my life (who happens to be sitting right over there, so don’t reveal anything too traumatic for her)-”

“ _James_ ,” Lily smiled, but she was blushing brilliantly.

“-and have an army of children all called Sirius Jr to terrorise McGonagall once they turn 11.”

Lily sighed, “ _So close.”_

Hermione had never seen Sirius look so simultaneously touched and excited.

“Dots mean danger…” Mary said, pulling a face. Hermione’s attention piqued and she found she was suddenly attentive. “Your hand is really interesting.”

“Everything about me is interesting,” he supplied.

“No, but- like here, for instance. Your Heart line touches both your Head _and_ your Life line… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.” Mary broke off, seemingly stumped, and rightly irritated at the fact. Hermione hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath. “The closest thing I can link it to is betrayal… But I don’t know… I really don’t…”

Hermione found that her lungs actually needed oxygen in order for her to breathe and she inhaled sharply. James didn’t move. He stared at her. Her eyes locked on him.

**_“There were two possibilities, but it didn’t matter. Voldemort had decided it was your son, and so… he came to your house, on Halloween night. You were betrayed.” Her voice was thick and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Peter. She was sobbing. “He killed you, James. He killed your wife and he tried to kill Harry, but the spell backfired. It was an ancient protection charm- the strongest in the world-”_ **

Peter was quiet, staring at the ground, looking very much like he had just retreated back inside of himself. Remus had frozen beside her. Sirius hadn’t reacted at all, and it was that eerie lack of… well, _anything_ that had her most worried. She remembered his reaction the first time round. He had been murderous. She didn’t know which one she preferred.

It was funny how that one word, _betrayal_ , could have such an effect on them. She thought about everything Mary had said, and wondered whether maybe this hand-reading wasn’t as farfetched as she had presumed.

Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe she should listen to it.

James cleared his throat, awkwardly climbing to his feet so that he could go back and sit beside Lily. However, at that point, Peter shuffled into a comfier position, stretching his legs out, just as James started walking. Their limbs collided, and it happened so fast that in one minute, James was standing and the next, he was a defeated lump of gangly body parts, which tangled with Sirius’.

Nobody moved, or said anything, for a second or two, and then they all dissolved into raucous laughter. Sirius rolled them over so James was on his back, and commenced to try and tickle his best friend. He knew everything about James, his strengths and his weaknesses, his facial expression and the best spots to have him keeling over in a fit of harmless agony (there was a spot on his side, just between his ribs, that if you pressed a particular way, worked a treat). James howled, glasses falling off his nose, flailing and bucking to get the large lump that was Sirius off of him, but to no avail.

“Stop! Stop- ah! No!” He gasped, eyes clenched shut. “ _Lily_ -”

Lily was crying from laughing too hard, but she stood up and launched herself on Sirius’ back. Peter’s whole face lit up and he saw this as the perfect opportunity to join in. He tackled Sirius from the side. Remus got up, grinning, a challenge in his eyes. He held his hand out for Hermione, and she took it, beaming. She took a running start at Sirius, who saw her coming and wrapped an arm around her waist so he could spin her around. A squeal left her lips. Soon, Dorcas and even Marlene had joined in, and they rolled about on the grass, tickling one person and clambering on someone else’s back. And they screamed and laughed and gasped for air and forgot about the darkness creeping in on them from all sides. They were blinded by the light.

A minute later, they all collapsed on top of one another, panting. Hermione laid there in the grass, which was wet from spring’s dew, staring up at the sky, streaked with the fading light of today, and she felt the laughter dying on the air. And it was all so unreal. She could feel their bodies pulsing with life beside her, feel their every heartbeat and hear their every sharp breath, and the thrum of her friends had never been so profound. She could feel them living.

And she would not let anyone take that away from her. No one. Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things have definitely gotten darker, and I know I've said this a lot but from now on, I'm just going to kind of- dive headfirst into it all... I've been skirting around the adventure for too long, trying to give myself time to flesh out characters and relationships and to establish key plots, and to give you guys (my LOVELY READERS) time to really connect with them so that it has the biggest effect once things start happening. Now, however, I'm done with that. They're going to start taking action and I'm going to include this in most author's notes from now on but please stick with this story, no matter how dark and sad it gets, because I need you to trust me. You've stuck with me this far, please stick with me until the end.


	55. Chapter 55- The Recruits

** Chapter 55- The Recruits **

 

Hermione turned yet another corridor, eyebrows furrowing even deeper when she found it empty. She’d been searching for almost an hour now, and she was sure her eyes had scanned every accessible inch of the castle (most likely, the inaccessible too) to no avail. Her friends were nowhere to be found.

She’d woken up late, and told Lily to go down to breakfast without her. But when Hermione had finally gotten to the Great Hall, not one of them was in sight. Luckily, Alice had called her over and she had sat with her and Frank, laughing and talking about the Herbology homework. Hermione’s heart had warmed when Frank had started a small dispute with his girlfriend over Fanged Geranium; she could see Neville shining through them both.

Now, though, she was stood in an empty corridor, as equally empty as every other part of the school she had already visited, thoroughly confused. She couldn’t find anyone! She let out a small, frustrated huff and continued walking, turning around the next corner.

Hermione’s spirits perked.

“Avery!”

He didn’t look pleased to see her, but then again, he never did and today he looked a little less displeased than usual so she took it as an achievement. He crossed his arms and looked down at her.

“What?”

“How are you?” She asked pleasantly.

“Good.”

Hermione waited. She cocked her head at him, then rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, “Yes, I’m very well, thank you ever so much for asking.”

He simply stared at her. She pulled a face and said, “Have you seen any of my friends?”

A small smirk curled his lips and his eyes never wavered from her. “Ah, that’s what you want. No, I haven’t seen any of your horrible growths around this morning.”

Hermione groaned loudly, then shot him a look at his rudeness.

“Speaking of your missing pets,” Avery said, unaffected. “Have you seen Regulus lately?”

Hermione felt a frown pull at her face. “No,” she said slowly. “Should I have?”

He raised his eyebrows. “No. I was just wondering. I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

She squinted at this information. Avery didn’t seem overly concerned, merely curious, so she didn't take it as a cue to be worried about the younger boy. Even so, she felt her throat tighten ever so slightly.

She coughed and said, "It's fine. He's fine. He's a big boy, perfectly capable of looking after himself."

Avery narrowed his eyes at her, eyebrows knitted together.

Hermione continued, "It's a big enough castle that it's completely feasible that he's on one side of it and we're always on another-"

"Hermione," Avery started.

"-and just because you haven't seen him in a while isn't any indication that something terrible has happened-"

" _Hermione!"_

She stopped. His hands had come up to grip her shoulders, to shake her out of her nervous rant. She cleared her throat and stepped out of his reach.

Avery dropped his arms and said quietly, "Like you said, he's a big boy. I didn't ask to freak you out, I was merely curious."

"I know," she sighed, running a hand through her knotted hair. "I just can't help but worry about him-"

"Do you worry about me?"

There was nothing in either Avery’s voice or face to suggest that he cared, but Hermione knew him by now and the simple fact that he asked in the first place was evidence enough. She smiled softly up at him.

"It keeps me up at night," she murmured. And it was true. At least with Regulus, she knew what his predetermined place was on the original timeline and she knew how to prevent it. With Avery, she had nothing. She didn't know what he did or where he went or what key events she had to keep from happening or if he even survived-

Hermione stopped thinking and looked away.

Avery didn't know how to respond. His face was startlingly open, and his eyes were wide, lips parted. He stared at her with that look that he seemed to reserve just for her, and she found herself wishing that someone, anyone, (even if it was Malfoy!) would walk around the corner.

Avery said finally, "Is the plan still in motion?"

Although she didn't let it show, she was glad for this change of subject.

"Yes," she answered. "If you're still up for it?"

There was nothing in his face or voice that gave away how he felt. He said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.

"Because you're sneaking a Mudblood into the Malfoy ball? Because we're going behind the darkest wizard of all time's back, knowing he could full-well destroy everything we hold dear, in an attempt to get rid of him and our lead is nothing more than the guessing of an eighteen year old girl-"

"Hermione," Avery cut off her rambling. He looked slightly perturbed. "Are you trying to change my mind?"

She blushed. "No, I just-" her eyes traced his face. She licked her lips, blinking. "I just need you to understand how dangerous this is."

Avery looked exasperated. "Hermione," he said, impatience ringing his voice. "I knew from the minute I saw you, you'd be dangerous. Both to yourself _and_ others." He swallowed. "And yet I'm here, aren't I?"

Hermione stared at him. There wasn't much else she could do, because she realised that Frédéric Avery was a lot more than what she had thought, a lot more than what she had given him credit for. For here he was, agreeing without a second’s hesitation to betray Voldemort after all she had done was ask.

He cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Well. I'll see you around."

Her tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn't find a way to unhinge it. She wanted to say thank you, for his blind trust, for his support, for his friendship (if that’s what it even was between them) but it was impossible so she let him turn and leave.

"Oh, Hermione," Avery said, and she watched as he walked back to her. "This morning, at breakfast, McGonagall came over and led your stupid squadron away. I don't know where they went but they didn't come back... If that helps."

"It doesn't," she smiled up at him. He rolled his eyes.

Nevertheless, Hermione thought about it. The more she did, the more puzzled she became. Why would McGonagall need them? Where would she even take them? A suggestion shot through her mind and she felt her stomach drop. Hermione didn't know why or how but she knew that this was where her friends were. She hoped, desperately, that she was wrong.

Without another word, she ran back down the corridor. Avery spluttered indignantly and called after her, "You're welcome!"

Hermione ran as fast as her legs could carry her, and she was fortunate enough that she didn't meet anyone on her way there; it would only have slowed her down.

She spun on the corner, reaching the statue and gasped out a pained, " _Liquorice_."

The revolving staircase appeared before her and, despite the stitch in her side, she didn't waste time. She flew up the steps.

Not even bothering to knock, Hermione burst into the room.

Dumbledore didn't look startled in the slightest to see her...but her friends did. Marlene and Mary were sat on the chairs in front of his desk, and the rest of them were stood nearby. Moody was also there, looking equal parts exasperated and ruffled to see her.

Caradoc was stood in the corner, by the dais. His eyes followed her.

She didn't know why it hurt so much, or why the thumping of her heart felt toxic then, but Hermione moved towards Dumbledore and she started crying. The tears were hot and angry, burning her cheeks.

"How could you?" She demanded. "How could you when you promised you wouldn't?"

Dumbledore simply watched her.

"Now, pip, I think you need to calm down," Moody advised, frowning.

Hermione shook her head, and her hair flew everywhere. "I told you that they were too young." She was still staring at Dumbledore. She did not dare look at her friends. "I told you that they deserved a normal childhood and you ignored me. No, you went one step worse than that, didn't you Professor? You recruited them the first chance you got."

For some reason, her tears weren't real tears, more furious pinpricks that she needed to release if she was to avoid hurting something (or _one_ ).

"They're just-" And even though she told herself this, she cried a little more. Hermione swallowed and the word was barely a fracture in the air, "- _kids_. They don't deserve to die."

The silence in the office was very loud and obdurate. The kind of silence that makes you want to stay quiet.

"Are you quite finished, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked calmly. She didn't say anything, just took a deep breath. He took this as the sign to continue. "I did not recruit your friends. In fact, they came to me. I believe it was Mr Potter's idea."

Hermione's lips parted. Her eyes found James, who seemed to be determined to stare at the floor and avoid meeting her gaze for as long as possible. She faltered, crumbling beneath her skin. "You know," she whispered. "You know what happens. I told you. How could you do this to yourself? How could you do this to _him?_ "

James' hazel eyes were pained and they flicked to her once, then away just as quickly. His face was tight, like he was trying to keep it straight.

"James, I-"

"My dad could be next," he said, cutting her off. He didn't look at her, and the veins in his neck throbbed. "I don't think you understand how bloody hard it is to sit there and do nothing but wait for the newspaper to know whether or not someone you love is dead-"

"Don't understand?" Hermione replied stonily. Her voice was low and trembling. James' face flooded with guilt and he seemed to deflate as he realised what he had said.  "Oh, I forget. When did you fight in a war again?"

He swallowed, but chose not to say anything. She looked at them all, eyes pleading, mouth not working for the second time that day. She wanted to tell them they were stupid. And that all but three of them wouldn't reach the age of 22. But how could you tell someone that they only had four years left on the planet?

You couldn't. That was the answer. There was no way to ever tell someone that.

Hermione looked away from them, feeling her eyes go hot again. Her entire body was pulsing with the mortal pounding of betrayal. She had no idea why she felt like this, but the fury was vehement and raging inside of her. She looked at them one final time, face taut.

"Congratulations," she said coldly, and even though the tears blurred her vision, she could see their faces vividly. "You just killed yourselves."

And without another word, Hermione stormed from the office. She didn’t really think about anything, least of all where she was going or how she was going to act with them later. The only thing that existed was heartache, lodged deep and bitter inside of her. She needed to get away.

"Hermione!" Someone was yelling her name. She didn't even slow down; nothing they could say would make this better. She didn’t want to speak to anyone in that room. "Hermione! Wait! _Please!"_

Albeit unwillingly, she stopped abruptly, and turned around. Caradoc was rushing after her, looking rather dishevelled, and he came to a halt when he got close enough. There was nothing open about him and they both just stared at each other.

After a while, he said, "You can't control people."

Hermione scoffed, folding her arms. "You ran after me to- what? Chastise me? Well, have fun with that. I'm not in the mood."

She spun on her heel to carry on walking, but he caught her elbow. "Not so fast, Tiger."

Hermione faced him again. It struck her them how odd Caradoc truly was; he was very conventionally good-looking, but there was a rigid discipline to him that diverted any attraction that may form. It was difficult to decipher him.

He sighed, mistaking her pondering silence for distrust, and said, "I know we're not really friends... But I also know that if you don't hear this now, you're going to end up hating yourself and going all self-sacrificial on me. And," Caradoc clenched his jaw, "as much as it pains me to admit it, the cause needs you. You're- your information is invaluable."

Hermione simply stared at him.

"But your friends up there," he continued. "They're determined kids, okay? There's no way anyone is convincing them otherwise and I know they'll make great additions to the Order, without a doubt."

Her lips curled into a cynical smile. It was so predictable. Of course, anyone only cared about the fight but did anyone ever stop to care about the fighters? Or did it not matter anymore? As long as it was all for the _Greater Good?_

Caradoc said, in a quiet voice, "And they're most likely going to suffer in this. A lot. A hell of a lot, actually. But a war is coming, Hermione." His eyes were steady and brutally honest. "And like it or not, they're going to suffer either way. You can't shield people from the horrors of life. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try... You just can't protect people."

 

**oOoOoOo**

The sky was dark above her head, and it looked like it had ripped as the light from the stars spilled down onto the sleeping Quidditch field. Hermione just stared up at it, her eyes picking out constellations. It was almost second-nature to her.

When she was little, and she couldn’t sleep, her dad used to take her out and sit on the front step of their little house and they would gaze up at the stars. He would murmur facts to her about each one, pointing out planets and galaxies, telling her stories about people who had wished on those burning balls of gas long ago.

When she was eleven, and she had received her Hogwarts letter, they had sat on the front step all night long, and her father had held her whilst she cried because she didn’t want to go away and Christmas seemed like an impossibly distant dot in her lifetime.

When she was seventeen, on the run, Hermione would sit at the opening of the tent, gazing up at the stars through the snatches of the trees, longing for serenity, suckling on the depravity of the world.

Sometimes, it was the only thing that could calm her errant mind. Sometimes, she wondered whether it was the only thing that kept her sane.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

She sat up abruptly. Remus was stood a few metres away, his large jumper drowning his frame, and he seemed so distinct against the darkness. Hermione laid back down, and closed her eyes.

“Good for you.”

He sighed, wrinkling his nose. “We looked everywhere for you. Sirius wanted to put up leaflets, but James managed to convince him it perhaps wasn’t the most productive idea.”

“I think you should leave,” she said. “Before they all follow you down here. I don’t want everyone-”

Remus coughed awkwardly and Hermione looked at him. Bashful, he winced and said, “They’re actually all stood over there. They just sent me to- how did Sirius phrase it? _Tickle the sleeping dragon.”_

She stared at him for a second longer, and then rested her head back on the grass. He lingered beside her. “Can they come over?”

Hermione didn’t say anything, because she wasn’t sure. Of course she wanted them to come over, but it still burnt her to think of what they had done. She didn’t know whether she could face them.

Remus made an exasperated sound, then looked down at her and said, “Sirius is gesticulating and I’d rather not decipher him. Please let them come over.”

She swallowed. “Fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him motion and her friends stumbled into her view. Hermione sat up, rubbing at the grass stains on her elbows to avoid having to look at them directly.

In silence, they all sat down around her. It appeared nobody dared to speak first because the frigidness stole all their words, but in truth, their hearts were beating far too fast for anything that came out of their mouth to make sense.

“I’m sorry,” James spoke up suddenly. Hermione sighed.

“James, stop-”

“I am though,” he cut her off. “I’m sorry because I know that you’re trying to save us. And I know that it’s because you love us. But I need you to know that you can’t save people.”

She made a sound of frustration. “Why does everyone say that?!”

“Because it’s true,” James said. “You can’t save people because people make their own choices. You can’t censor what happens because it will happen regardless. As much as you try, you can’t Hermione. And I think, deep down, you know that. You’re just not willing to accept it.”

She stared at him, and her body felt feeble. She hated this. She hated feeling weak. She wanted to help them, but she couldn’t even be strong enough for herself. Hermione knew, like James said, deep, _deep_ down, that he was right. But she also knew that if anything happened to these people, anything at all, she would go out of her mind.

“You just-” she broke off, licking her chapped lips. “You just don’t understand that if _anything_ happened to any of you… I would never be able to live with myself.”

“Well it’s a good job nothing’s going to happen to us, isn’t it?” Marlene grinned. She looked at her. “We trust you, Mione. Okay?”

Hermione’s eyes found the stars again, and she willed herself to keep the tears down. It was so difficult to face them. Because she knew that in her timeline, two lovers were dead before they ever had a chance to live, and one was locked away in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and one was devoured by fear that he turned to betrayal as an answer; one was condemned to suffer his infliction alone; one was hunted down by Voldemort and the last two were both brutally slaughtered when they were simply trying to fight for a better tomorrow. In her timeline, they all died because of this. They all burned.

“I think everyone has a little bit of ‘I want to save the world’ in them,” Lily said quietly. She was barely an indentation in the air, but they all clung desperately to every word that left her lips because Lily always knew what to say. “That’s why they do stupid things sometimes. But I also think that it’s okay if you only save one person… and it’s okay if that person is you.”

Hermione stared at her, willing a reply to grace her mouth, but nothing came forth. Peter, sitting beside her, took hold of her hand and he looked at her with the sort of scorching sincerity that left her breathless. He said, “We’re not asking you to save us, or the world. We’re just asking you to save yourself because that’s enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who asked me whether or not the palm reading was true- it is!! Haha! I spent hours researching it and lots of different websites said different things to I tried to incorporate a little bit from each:) There is LOTS of foreshadowing in that and I see a few of you have already picked up on some of it (kudos to you!!).   
> I'm so happy you liked the palm-reading bit because I originally just wrote it as a filler!! But then you guys liked it so that was good!!   
> This one has taken me ages to write because I kept getting stuck at the same part. I knew what I wanted to write, I just couldn't write it, you know? It's torture because I really like hearing your thoughts and so I wanted to update as soon as I possibly could but writer's block debilitated me!  
> Last thing (I PROMISE)- Thank you for saying that you're going to stick with this story. I know that we're 55 chapters in, and you probably would've left by now if you weren't going to stick with it but even so, I can't say enough how genuinely touched I am that you even waste your time with this fic. It means the absolute world to me.   
> Have a lovely day (or night if you're where I am) and please let me know what you think or how you are or what interesting adventures you've been up to:)  
> Yours,  
> Everliah


	56. Chapter 56- The Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so happy you guys are ready for the dark stuff! It makes me feel a lot less guilty at what is in store!!!  
> The fact that you guys ship her with Avery is equal parts frustrating and liberating!! On one hand, it’s so exciting to hear that I have, albeit unintentionally, converted you to a totally new ship!! But on the other, it makes it harder to please you with it because I’m not sure how well-received this fanfiction would be if I suddenly started down that route.   
> Nevertheless, this is ALL Hermione and Avery. I am going to apologise in advance.  
> Sorry, this chapter isn't the best.

** Chapter 56- The Diary **

 

Hermione stood outside the Slytherin Common Room, concealed under James’ invisibility cloak. Her and Avery had planned this; they had planned for every variable, every possible scenario, everything that could potentially go wrong. She doubted they could be any more thorough.

The corridor was empty, and chilling, and she wished that he would just hurry up already. She was on-time, so she knew that he should be out by now.

As if the Devil had felt his ears burning, the stone door cracked open and Avery slipped out into the darkness of the castle. His face was carefully blank as he stared at the shadows, knowing she must be there but seeing nothing.

“Accio cloak,” he hissed suddenly. Nothing happened. The cloak didn’t even flap or flutter, but she still felt her heart leap a little just in case. Avery raised an eyebrow, pocketing his wand again. “You weren’t lying when you said your disguise was fool-proof.”

“I never lie,” Hermione replied reproachfully, as they started moving. Avery all but strode, quick and determined, and she almost had to run to keep up with him. It was like tall people just didn’t understand the additional speed they gained simply from being tall. He was fumbling with something, rifling through his bag and didn’t comment, merely scoffed at her.

His eyes flicked to the side. "I don't like not seeing you. It's unnerving."

"Do you miss my pretty face?" Hermione asked, trying to keep the laugh from entering her voice. A deep frown pulled at his face, but she pulled the cloak from her body and shoved it in her bag.

Avery glanced at her, then sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What?”

“You’re wearing that.”

She looked down at herself. The red shirt was vibrant and bold; a statement. Innocently, Hermione asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“We are going into the middle of a snake pit… and you, of course, are wearing Gryffindor red,” Avery pointed out resignedly, but there was something else in his tone, a smirk of sorts. “I should be offended.”

"They’ll never even know,” she smiled secretively. He just shook his head at her. “Why did you take so long?"

"I had to leave at the right time. Most of them knew about the ball, and who was attending," he said. "If I'd left any sooner, I'd have raised suspicion."

"Sounds fragile," she observed.

"No. Merely cautious."

They lapsed into silence, walking beside one another through the shadows. Avery was leading them to a secret passageway, one that would supposedly take them out of Hogwarts to somewhere they could activate the Portkey.

Her entire body was tense with anticipation, and she recited the plan in her head again. Hermione felt her throat clog. She said, "Are you sure He won't be there?"

Avery kept his eyes ahead. “He won’t be.”

Before she had time to say anything else, he stopped abruptly beside a statue of a one-eyed witch. He took out his wand and tapped the witch’s head once, stepping back as the stone slid open. Avery didn’t even look at her, simply continued into the darkness of the tunnel. Hermione could do nothing but follow.

They didn’t walk for long, before she could see a thin crack of light, outlining their exit.

“Be quiet now. It leads out to the basement of Honeydukes. We can’t wake the owners,” Avery muttered to her. She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her in this blackness.

“Okay.”

The trap door was easy enough to open, and Avery climbed stealthily out first, scoping the lower level of the shop to ensure it was vacant. A second later, he offered his hand to her and hoisted her out.

“Come on,” he whispered, cocking his head. “The back entrance isn’t warded like the front. We’ll be able to get out that way.”

“Do this often?” Hermione asked nonchalantly.

He smirked, conceding, “Once or twice.”

Sure enough, the backdoor was only locked by a bolt, which Avery simply had to slide along to grant them access to the shadowy backstreets of Hogsmeade. When they were both outside, he spelled the door shut and led her further into the alley, out of sight of any night birds that may be watching.

Avery opened his bag up, retrieving something that was wrapped in emerald silk. Hermione leaned over his shoulder. Carefully, so that his fingers didn’t touch the concealed object, he pulled back the cloth. In his hand, was a little silver broach, with a green snake writhing across it.

She reached out to touch it but Avery caught her wrist quickly. Hermione let out a startled gasp; his grip was like a vice. “What?”

“You can’t touch it,” he said, as though she were stupid. She scoffed.

“Then how am I supposed to come with you?”

She wiggled her arm, trying to detach herself from him, but to no avail. Avery raised his eyebrows and said, “The Portkey is only expecting one person. It is only designed for one person. If two people were to touch it, then it would alert my father immediately.”

Hermione stopped struggling against him and grew limp. It seemed this ball was a higher risk than what she had initially thought. She stared at him.

“Then what are we going to do?” She demanded.

Avery dropped her wrist, flicking it away from him. “First of all, _we_ are going to stop demanding. I told you I have everything under control and I do. Second, you're going to put the cloak on and…” He visibly swallowed, eyes darting to her and back just as quick. “You’re going to hold onto me.”

Hermione nodded absently, not even half as concerned as Avery was about being so close. She was used to it, she supposed. She looked up at him and said, “Are we going then?”

His jaw clenched as he stared at the broach. He sorted out his cloak, drawing it tighter around him. Hermione took this as the cue to assume her position, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. For someone who was always so stoic and cool, he was unusually warm and she found that he was rather comfortable to hold. She got as close to him as possible, before glancing up. “What?”

Avery had frozen as soon as she had first touched him. “You’re just- erm, holding me very tightly.”

“Well, I don’t want to get splinched!”

He cleared his throat, eyeing her arms wrapped around him. Hermione huffed, refusing to slacken them, and said scathingly, “I’m not going to give you cooties.”

A long, low hiss of air whistled through his teeth, but he nevertheless grabbed her arms and pulled them further around him. “Then you may as well hold me closer. I can’t lose you mid-apparation.”

Hermione did, tightening her arms. Avery hesitated, sighed once more, before he put one arm around her, drawing her into him. With his free hand, he let the silk drop and closed his fist around the broach.

They were sucked from the alleyway in less than an instant, leaving only a billowing cloth behind.

Hermione opened her eyes as soon as she felt the steady earth beneath her feet. She stumbled away from Avery, and fumbled for the cloak, throwing it over herself before she looked around. The grounds they were stood in were grand and green, and their elegance shone despite the shadows. The manor stood in the middle of the garden, and she felt her body seize up. Her hand shot up to clutch at her forearm. Avery noticed; he must’ve felt her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, retracting her hand and swallowing. He was frowning in her general direction and he let out a strange noise.

“I don’t like not seeing you,” Avery said quietly. Hermione looked at him, then back at the manor.

“We should go,” was all she said in reply. He inhaled deeply, casting his eyes at the mansion and nodded.

“Remember the plan,” he murmured to her as they started walking. “We find the diary, I socialise the politically correct amount-”

“Politically correct amount?” Hermione repeated incredulously.

Avery sighed. “Enough to be considered polite, but not too much so as to be bordering on suspicious.”

“My, these social gatherings really _are_ fragile.”

He glared but decided to continue what he was saying in the first place instead of arguing with her. “Then, I spout some nonsense about how my Potions essay is due tomorrow morning and we leave. With or without the diary. Understood?”

“Understood,” Hermione affirmed, but she knew that there was no way she was leaving without that little black book clenched in her hand. They reached the front door.

They could both feel the thrum of life, seeping through the cracks, and a faint hum of conversation was static in the air. Hermione felt her heart flutter. It was all very old to her; the excitement, anticipation, fear that spiked her bloodstream, feeling like an old coat that she had slipped on for the first time in forever. This danger was something her adrenaline-infused body could never get used to, no matter how many times she felt it.

“Into the Serpent’s Lair,” Avery said under his breath, eyes fixed ahead but he didn’t move.

He paused, fingers straightening his robe and Hermione glanced sideways at him. His face was deathly pale, his eyes dark and the light of the ball, escaping through the window panes in the door, danced in them.

“You look fine,” she told him earnestly and his eyes shot to her.

He tried to force nonchalance. Avery smirked, “I know.”

And he opened the door, stepping in and being absorbed by the extravagance.

There were people everywhere, teetering on trivial conversations with ice smiles and disinterested eyes. Jewels gleaned from ladies' necks and powerful laughs boomed from the men's' throats. It was all very artificial, Hermione thought, like lions at a zoo, playing nice for the keepers.

"Keep close to me," Avery murmured, and his lips barely moved as he shot a vulture-like lady a smile.

She wanted to scoff at how stupid he must think she was.

"Why wouldn't I?"

His eyebrow quirked ever so slightly and he replied, in an almost miffed voice, "Because you seem to gravitate towards danger."

Hermione felt her lips pull into a smile, and she was glad he couldn't see her.

"Frédéric!"

The two of them turned at the sound of his name being called, and Hermione sucked in her breath when she saw Lucius Malfoy coming towards her, with somebody sickly familiar in tow.

Her hair was just as dark and wild as Hermione remembered it, and her eyelids were hooded. Her black eyes seemed to flit around the people with as much boredom as they dared to exhibit in such company. They landed on Avery and a predatory glint stole across their glassy surface.

Avery didn't so much as flinch.

"Freddie, where have you been?" Lucius questioned as he came to a stop in front of them. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Neither here nor there," Avery replied, eyes lingering on the woman by his friend's side.

Lucius noticed and said, "Oh, of course. I don't believe you've met. This is Narcissa's sister, Bella."

Hermione made a noise, a strangled sound that caught on the back of her throat, and both Lucius and Bellatrix' eyes cut to where she was standing. Avery hastily coughed, smiling apologetically.

"My apologies, I've had a terrible cold lately."

Lucius grinned at him and said jokingly, "It must be the French in you. I hear they have awfully poor immune systems."

Avery chuckled, glancing meaningfully at Hermione and she recognised the warning in his eyes. _Be quiet._ Bellatrix didn't look entirely convinced.

"Anyhow, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Black," Avery said, offering his hand.

Her eyes travelled the length of him, looking like a hunter eyeing up it's prey and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Please," she responded silkily. "Do call me Bella."

"Very well then, Bella," he said courteously. She took his hand and he brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a dry kiss to them.

Lucius' eyes flicked between them. Hermione's did too, although hers held the slightest hint of contempt. She stomped down on Avery's foot. He had to bite down his whimper (the smallest squeal still escaped his lips) and Lucius' eyebrows shot up.

Bella lifted her chin daintily and said, "Well I must away. Mother wishes me to watch over Andromeda. She hates these social gatherings and tends to act out. It was lovely meeting you, Frédéric."

The two boys and Hermione watched as she stalked away.

"What is with you tonight?" Lucius demanded in a hushed voice, as soon as the last curl on her head was out of sight. "You're acting very... Peculiar."

"What can I say?" Avery murmured. "Miss Black is such a wonder to look upon that _it pains me."_

The last bit was gritted out through his teeth and punctuated with a poisonous glare at Hermione. She felt smug satisfaction jolt through her.

Lucius frowned. "Well, you must dispose of that opinion as she's betrothed to Lestrange."

"The brute or the brawn?" Avery asked uncaringly.

"The brute."

He huffed a laugh. "What a lucky girl she is." Avery looked at his friend. "Speaking of marriage, how are you and Narcissa?"

Lucius' chest rose unevenly and his breath was a sharp intake of air. "The engagement has just been approved. Now, I simply have to ask her officially."

There was a timid and unprotected eagerness in his eyes and Hermione could tell, just by looking at him, how in love he was with Narcissa. It was strange to see Malfoy acting so... Human.

Avery smiled, a genuine smile, and said, "I expect Best Man status at your wedding."

Lucius smirked. "And what makes you say that?"

"Well, I haven't been your best friend for sixteen years, saving your life and risking my own because of your obsolete stupidity, only to be sidestepped by Goyle," Avery said, and the laugh was prominent and rich in his deep voice. It struck Hermione then how normal he was. It was strange to think that Avery, who resembled a statue above anything else, had fond childhood memories, and objects which he cherished, and a life in which he was loved and loved deeply. It was strange to think of him as existing outside of his purpose _now_ , and Hermione felt guilt trickle through her at how selfish that thought was. She had reduced him to her need of him, and that disqualified him as a person. It was something Dumbledore would do. Not her.

Nevertheless, it seemed they had both forgotten what they were there for, and she poked his side. He writhed away from her, eliciting another strange look from Malfoy.

"Must be a fever," he explained. "I'm going to use the bathroom. I'll come find you later."

Without another word, Avery touched Malfoy's shoulder and brushed past him. Hermione followed. They weaved in and out of the copious amounts of people, and she didn’t dare to breathe until they had mounted the very top of the splendid staircase, and the din of the party was cut from their hearing very abruptly.

Avery strode along the ostentatiously emerald hallway and she jogged to keep up with him. They moved in silence until they were both sure that they wouldn’t stumble across anyone.

“You could learn a thing or two about discrepancy, you know,” he said, glaring at her.

“And you could learn a thing or two about flirting, so I guess we both have areas to improve on,” Hermione replied snobbishly.

He backtracked, eyes wide and incredulous. “ _Flirting_?! Just when was I flirting?”

“With _Miss_ _Black_ ,” she said, mocking him by making her voice high.

“I was not flirting with her, I was being polite.”

A short, sarcastic laugh burst from her lips and echoed down the corridor. He shot her a warning glance. Hermione lowered her voice and whispered furiously, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise snogging someone’s hand was the Pureblood way of being polite.”

“You know,” Avery said loudly, but he quietened his voice quickly. “You sound awfully concerned about this. Jealous, are we?”

She pulled a face at him, even though he couldn’t see her and said, “ _No_.”

“Then quit your whining,” he said calmly. “She’s engaged to someone else, anyway. Rodolphus. Bellatrix Lestrange. Has a ring to it, no?”

Hermione faltered, slowing to a stop. Oxygen seemed to poison her, and she could only hear that manic, cackling laugh, could only feel her skin being sliced open and the blood oozing down her arm, hot and cankered-

_Mudblood-_

“Hermione?”

She jolted out of it. Avery was stood on the far side of the hallway they were in, beside a large double door. He pushed it open, waiting for her to enter, before he checked up and down the hallway, and slipped in himself.

The library was colossal, a high-beamed wooden museum of literature, and Hermione had to take a few deep breaths to steady herself. She pulled the cloak from her body and stared in awe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Avery asked, coming to stand beside her.

They were an odd pair. One, an effortlessly elegant gentlemen, so tall you had to crane your neck back to see him, but otherwise undemanding in his presence, wearing robes that suggested he could eat diamonds for breakfast. The other, a small and unimpressive girl, in fraying jeans and a red shirt, paling in comparison to her companion’s grandeur, but exceeding him in mightiness. She stood like an heir waiting to be crowned.

They were an odd pair, but there was something about them that wasn’t so odd after all.

“That’s a lot of books,” Avery whistled under his breath.

“Indeed,” Hermione replied.

He sighed, rolling his sleeves up and said, “We best get looking then.”

And so they did. They searched every nook and cranny, every grain of wood. Their eyes trailed along every spine on every shelf. They weren’t looking for a needle in a haystack; they were looking for a book in a massive room _full_ of books.

“It’s not here,” Avery said, after time had dragged its feet past both of them. He threw his arms in the air.

“It won’t be hidden in plain sight,” Hermione murmured in reply, focus solely fixed on the books in front of her. She was crawling along the floor, checking every part of the current bookshelf she was inspecting. “It would be far too dangerous should someone stumble upon it. He wouldn’t even risk it.”

“So, what? You think it’s hidden somewhere in here?” He demanded. “Because we’ve already searched every inch of this place accessible to our _eyes_ twice! Now we have to search the inaccessible too? Which, I repeat once more because I know you’re not listening to me… is inaccessible… to our eyes?”

She let out a frustrated huff, dragging her eyes to glare at his cynicism. Then her heart stopped.

Her eyes had snagged on a small decoration, carved into the very corner of the shelf; a snake, biting its own tail. “ _Ouroboros_ ,” she breathed. “He Who Eats the Tail.”

“You’re suspiciously quiet,” Avery said. “Normally, you would have bitten my head off, chewed it up and spat me back out by now- what’s that?”

He had moved towards her, trailing off when he caught sight of the little snake. Hermione brushed her thumb across it. “It means infinity.”

Avery glanced at her, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing. He pushed her hand away and fumbled with it, trying to dig it open or push it in, anything to stimulate a response. Nothing worked. The little snake simply stared at them.

Suddenly, an idea presented itself and Hermione sat back at the obviousness of it. She didn’t know how she did it, but the hiss slipped from her lips, slithering through the air and licking the snake. The Parseltongue worked.

The snake curled around so it was straight, and writhed through the wood, along the length of the shelf. There was a click for every single centimetre it moved and the books hopped backwards. Both she and Avery simply stared, in silence, until the snake stopped.

He turned to her, stunned, and said, “How did you do that?”

“My friend used to sleep-talk,” Hermione replied simply. Her eyes were glued to the shelf, and she moved closer to it, reaching out to pull the panel of wood down. It fell open at her touch.

Inside the compartment was a little black book.

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Is that it?” Avery asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” she breathed.

The door slammed abruptly and Avery scrambled to his feet, turning around and concealing her with his body. Hermione just had time to grab the book, shut the compartment, not watching as the snake slithered back along to its original place. She scrambled over to where she had thrown her cloak down, fumbling for a second before her fingers clenched around the material and she threw it over herself.

“Freddie?”

Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, frowning at his friend. “What are you doing in here?”

Avery glanced over his shoulder, and he relaxed a little when he saw nothing there, knowing she was hidden. He turned back around, and smiled. “I still haven’t done that essay for Slughorn. I was hoping I could research it whilst I was here.”

Lucius laughed. “You’re such a nerd,” he said, but it was spoken fondly. “I came to find you. Everyone’s being called to the Drawing Room.”

From behind him, Hermione could see the subtle way his jaw tensed. She wondered what he was thinking.

But Avery didn’t let anything else show. He just said, “Lead the way.”

They followed Malfoy back through the warren of a house, and Hermione slowly felt the apprehension coil tightly inside of her. She didn’t know why, but the feeling lingered, even as they stepped into the crowded hall.

There was something in the air, something frigid and fearful, and Hermione felt herself choke on it. Avery remained very close to her, even as he followed Malfoy through the throng of people to a vacant space in the crowd. He must have felt her fright somehow, for he slipped his hand behind him, finding her own and squeezed it.

That was when she knew something wasn’t right.

“My followers,” a voice said, deep but eerily familiar. Hermione couldn’t breathe. She held onto Avery’s fingers. “My friends, gathered here today.”

He was here. Voldemort was here.

He came into view a moment later. It was stranger to see Him here. In her time, Voldemort had resembled a monster, with no hair, or distinguishable human features and gleaming eyes and that hissing voice. Here, though… Here, He looked like a man. It was startlingly clear that He hadn’t made as many Horcruxes, for He retained that sweet delectable evidence of mortality and Hermione clutched the book closer to her chest with her free hand. She could feel His soul beating in time with her heart.

His hair was dark, and He was unerringly handsome, but His eyes were still that glinting red and they surveyed the people there with a powerful greed. He smiled at them. It made Hermione feel sick. “You perhaps weren’t expecting to see me tonight, and I apologise for surprising you with my presence. But I have brought a gift for the promising youth you wish to fight for and serve the cause we are all invested in. The cause that aims to cast off our concealment, and burn the segregation between Muggles and Wizards down and from that, that cause that will see us rise from the ashes and create a better world!”

Voldemort’s voice increased in volume and passion as He spoke, but He never lost his control, even as His followers cheered and screamed and yelled. He devoured their support, thriving off of their relinquished adoration. Hermione watched, and she could barely hold back her disgust. It terrified her.

His eyes scanned the room, drinking it dry, until they fell on her… Or past her. A humourless smirk curled His thin lips.

“Are you still wearing the bracelet?” Avery murmured, and his lips barely moved. His words were less than a passing dent in the air between them. Hermione felt the weight of the silver then, heavy around her wrist.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“And now, I believe, is as good a time as any to initiate those youths.” He curled a finger towards him. Avery’s fingers tightened on hers. “Step up, my young soldier. Step up for a better world.”

There was a hush. Lucius nudged Avery and murmured, “He’s talking to you, Freddie. Go on. _Go_!”

Avery detangled his fingers from Hermione’s, and she grappled for them but it was too late. He stepped forward.

Voldemort looked cool and disinterested, but there was a certain controlled pleasure in Him as Avery stepped into the circle made by the crowd.

“Avery,” Voldemort said silkily, dragging His wand across his cheekbone. “You’ve already proved yourself once before. Infiltrating Hogwarts, sending my message and what’s more, getting away with it. I’m surprised Dumbledore didn’t latch onto you. He tends to do that to any Slytherin in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I was careful, my Lord,” Avery replied. “As you requested.”

Voldemort looked to be mulling this over. “Mm, that you were. Tell me, Avery. How loyal are you? What are you willing to do for me?”

He circled him, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Are you willing to be killed for me?”

The tip of His wand landed above Avery’s heart. He got closer, until He was inches away from him.

He breathed, “Are you willing to _kill_ for me?”

There was a silence. This time, an answer was required. “Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort regarded him for a second, then nodded once, walking away to sit on a nearby chair. He lounged back, looking like any ordinary person. But He wasn’t. He wasn’t ordinary. He was a snake, venom dripping from His mouth, waiting to strike.

Someone dragged a kicking and screaming woman in front of them. She was sobbing, crying to be released, begging for her life. The Death Eater didn’t seem fazed by her struggle, just slapped her across her face. Hard.

“Then prove it,” He demanded lazily. Avery’s eyes cut to Him.

Hermione’s heart had stopped working as she watched the scene. Even Malfoy looked frightened for his friend. It felt like nobody dared to breathe or interfere. They could all only watch.

Avery swallowed. “No.”

There was a muted echo of shock, small gasps and shakes of heads and winces at what they knew would come. Voldemort cocked His head, amused.

“No?”

Avery didn’t reply.

Voldemort sighed deeply, rolling His neck back and He said, in a voice that suggested He was talking about nothing more important than the weather, “ _Crucio_.”

Avery dropped to his knees, but he didn’t scream. His face contorted, and the veins in his neck were pulsing and bulging. Hermione wished he would scream. It was not about being brave, it was about staying alive.

Voldemort cancelled the curse and said again, patiently, “Kill her.”

Kneeling on the floor, his usually perfect hair damp and out of place, Avery gasped, “No.”

The Dark Lord tutted and said, “I had such high hopes for you. I’m sure you’ll come around. _Crucio_.”

He rose from His chair, frowning at the boy writhing on the floor. The little whimpers he was making did not seem to be enough and He moved around the crowd, His robe snaking behind Him. He stopped the spell again, standing there. He was right next to her, barely a breath away.

Hermione inhaled sharply.

Voldemort paused, and His eyes stilled. Then, very slowly, He lifted His head up and looked at her. She knew she was invisible, and that He couldn’t see her, but somehow, it felt like He could see _into_ her. The diary screamed, and she hoped desperately that it was all in her head. It was pounding against her chest, making up for her lack of a heartbeat, trying to break free and re-join its master.

There was a sharp and sudden pain in her wrist, and she could feel the warm drip of blood paint her skin. Hermione frowned, not daring to move, but it felt as though she had just been absorbed in a bubble.

Avery stood up, and Voldemort’s attention was ripped away from her. He was staring at them, something raw in his eyes. He turned, lifting his wand and said, in a strong and trembling voice, “ _Avada Kedavra!”_


	57. Chapter 57- The Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I feel inclined to point out that I did not realise how truly cruel the last chapter was in terms of where it ended… I thought it was a fairly reasonable cliff-hanger (although this was at midnight last night, so who knows why I thought this) and I read this again today and thought… ‘Oh. Now I see why everyone hates me.’ Honestly though, your response was overwhelming, which is what prompted me to write super quickly an update for you! I love you all so so much!

** Chapter 57- The Fallen **

 

As if in slow motion, the green light spiralled from the tip of his wand, snaking through the air, crawling towards its victim. There was a flash of brilliant light and the crowd seemed to freeze, anticipation making their bodies go frigid. Hermione felt herself falter and she wanted to run, screaming, but she couldn't do that. She couldn't leave. She couldn't leave Avery.

She could only watch.

The curse made contact with her chest first- a perfect shot. Her eyes grew wide and her lips clutched desperately for a final breath, until her heart stopped beating in her chest. The woman fell to the floor, dead; her last plea was fading away on her cold face.

Avery stood before her, wand outstretched, panting. His face was slick with sweat and there was blood dribbling through his once pristine white shirt. He looked like he might faint, but his extended arm was steady.

Slowly, he turned to face Voldemort, who was staring at him. A cruel, twisted smirk played at His thin lips as Avery lugged himself forward. The crowd parted to let him through.

He came to a stop in front of Voldemort, eyes black and stoic and bowed his head. "My Lord."

Voldemort watched him, something glittering in the red of His eyes. He said, "Rise, my boy. Look at your new master." Avery complied. Voldemort grabbed his chin between His spidery fingers and rotated his head for them all to see. He raised His voice, projecting it for all to hear. "Allow them to look upon the new face of a _Death Eater!"_

And the people there exploded in cheer. They yelled and waved and jeered and laughed and Hermione felt sick. They were mad.

Voldemort let go of Avery's chin, and said, "You've made your Father very proud."

He left then, striding away. The walls seemed to move to allow Him access, as He reclaimed His spot in the centre of the room. Avery simply continued to stare ahead of him, and Hermione reached out and hooked her fingers through his. He didn’t hold her hand back, but he didn’t move away either. It seemed the formalities were over, for the vultures lining the shadows swept into action, resuming the amicable party life they had mimicked earlier. Many came over to congratulate Avery, but he bore them no heed. Lucius was by his side in an instant.

Malfoy lifted his hand up to touch his friend but hesitated, eyes wide and concerned. Instead, he let his arm drop back down to his side. Swallowing, he said in a low voice, “Maybe you should go.”

Avery didn’t even raise his eyes. “Maybe.”

Lucius made a sound of indignation, looking behind him before he leaned closer. “Okay. I’ll rephrase that. You’re leaving. Now.”

And he grabbed hold of his friend’s shoulders, dragging him away (Hermione’s fingers slipped from between his). She had to jog to keep up with them, weaving in and out of people, careful not to trip over men’s canes and ladies’ dresses, praying she wouldn’t be tainted by their purity. She slipped the diary into her bag and tried to focus on keeping her eyes on Avery.

He was deathly pale, and she dared not admit it but it frightened her. He still hadn’t really reacted, and his face was a clean slate. There was something different to his expression now than his usual cool one though; it looked like his muscles were slack, and his eyes were downcast. There was no air of arrogance or uncaring. There was nothing at all. This was it. He was defeated.

The entryway they had stood in when they’d first arrived was blissfully empty, and the quiet seemed to press down on them. Hermione could finally breathe and she gasped on it, inhaling like she had just been suffocated.

Lucius said, “I’ll come with you, say I need to finish my homework too-”

“No.”

Lucius looked taken-aback. Avery sighed and said, “I just need some time. You stay here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He moved closer to the door, but Malfoy stopped him again, reaching out and catching hold of his arm. There was some undulated feeling in his icy blue eyes, urging and unsure.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” He questioned.

Avery smiled lightly, but the gesture was void of any real emotion. It was just the tips of his lips curled to make the concern his friend felt waver. “Of course. When am I not?”

This still wasn’t enough for Malfoy, but he swallowed back his protests, nodded once and turned around, integrating back into the party seamlessly. Hermione could almost see his façade trickle over him, like a mirage. They both watched him go.

As soon as his platinum blond hair disappeared, Avery stumbled, pain wrenching his face and tightening his veins. Hermione didn’t even think; she rushed over to him, taking hold of his waist so could he throw his weight onto her. He seemed to collapse, and she knew that the cloak was being dragged from her body because of it.

She steered him out of the manor, slipping them both through the door and then moving as fast as she could to the bottom of the garden. They needed the cover of darkness, and Hermione could feel her heartbeat slowly returning as the din of the party grew quiet and distant. Avery was mumbling, something incoherent, and he sounded almost delirious.

They got to the bottom, and she directed them behind a nursery of bushes, before she felt it was safe enough to slip the cloak off. Hermione shoved it in her bag, and her hands were shaking violently. She never let go of Avery.

His face was tilted towards her, eyes trying to speak because his voice was too broken. A string of fractured moans dripped from his mouth, and she shushed him. “It’s okay,” she murmured, hand cradling his waxy face. “I’m going to get us out of here.”

Hermione glanced around, then tried to tighten Avery’s hold on her. She closed her eyes, thinking of Hogsmeade, willing them to travel, willing it to work. A strange sensation jolted through their bodies as they attempted to move through space, but their feet never left the ground.

A frustrated groan left her mouth and Hermione screwed her eyes shut, repeating the Three D’s. “Destination, Determination and Deliberation.” The image of Hogsmeade was at the front of her mind, detailed and dark. “ _Destination, Determination and Deliberation.”_

Her eyes shot open. But it hadn’t worked. They were both still at the bottom of the Malfoy grounds. Avery was still bleeding out, sweating and trembling. Hermione tried to prevent the sob from leaving her throat.

“It’s not working!” She whispered frantically to him, trying to shift his weight as her shoulder was going dead. Avery seemed to be slipping between consciousness and sleep, and his head dipped down, eyes drooping to a close. Hermione swallowed, nudging him awake. “ _Avery!”_ He regarded her blearily. “Avery, it’s not working. I can’t apparate!”

He lolled his head back, and his mouth was open. “In my pocket… The broach…”

Hermione reached into his pocket, freezing when her fingers felt something damp. She closed her eyes briefly, knowing that it was blood. Avery’s blood.

She opened her eyes and reached into his pocket, bringing the serpent broach out. It was no longer green, but a deep crimson. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Hermione laid it flat in her hand; it was sticky and warm.

“ _Portus_ ,” she whispered. The broach glowed a bright blue briefly, heating up as it absorbed the magic, then it trembled and grew limp once more. The fact that this was illegal didn’t even cross her mind. She needed to get them home.

Hermione secured her arms around Avery, making sure his hands were interlocked around her. Their heads were close together and she murmured in his ear, “I need you to hold on, Avery. Just hold on. Hold onto me.”

He groaned something in reply, and she clung to him, closing her fingers around the broach. They were sucked from Malfoy Manor.

Less than a second later, they landed in a dark alleyway behind the Hogsmeade shops, gasping. Avery slipped from her grasp, falling to the ground and Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, discarding the broach. He doubled over, and it was like everything he had been holding back, all the tears and words and screams, came hurling out of his mouth in the form of vomit. Hermione felt a soft sigh leave her mouth, and she rubbed his back, coaxing it out of him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

Once the sick stopped coming, she helped him onto his back, letting him lay across her knees. He was feverish, pale but hot, and his chest convulsed. Her hands flitted over him, wondering where to start, how to help him.

“Your wrist,” he murmured, distracted, taking hold of her hand and bringing it to his eyes. His face tightened again. “It’s not supposed to hurt you… I’m sorry…”

“What?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

Avery rested his forehead against her wrist, and the pinpricks of blood smeared his skin. “The bracelet I gave you. I told you it changes when your pulse quickens because I needed to know if you cared, but that’s not the whole truth…” She stared at him. “It does change when your heart speeds up. But it initiates a protection charm, like a bubble.”

Hermione couldn’t quite believe her ears. “So the bracelet protects me?”

He nodded absently and murmured, “It activated when Voldemort was close to you. But it’s ancient magic… It only works if there’s affection between the people who share it. That’s why I gave it you… To see if you cared…”

“Of course I care,” she whispered, brushing his hair from his face and trying to detangle the congealed blood from it. Avery’s jaw clenched suddenly, and his entire body tightened as he was wracked with pain. A short whimper left his lips.

Hermione jumped into action, opening up his robe, and taking his arms out of it. She ripped off one of his sleeves and he jolted abruptly, causing her to look at him in alarm.

Avery was staring up at her through hooded eyes and he croaked, “That cost more than everything you own.”

She almost wanted to hit him, but knew that that would not be beneficial to his current state. Instead, she huffed. “Trust you to insult me when I’m trying to help you.”

“Shouldn’t help…” Avery muttered. Hermione had picked up her wand, and nonverbally wet the cloth. She shot him a frown.

“What are you talking about?”

Avery smiled, and the blood bubbled through his lips. “You shouldn’t help,” he slurred. “I don’t deserve it.”

She scoffed, undoing the buttons of his shirt, and pushing the fabric to the side. The sight of his bloody torso made her falter for a moment, but she pushed on, pressing the damp cloth to his wounds. He hissed.

“You do deserve it or I wouldn’t be helping you,” Hermione replied. “I’d have left you there to look after yourself.”

She continued to dab at his cuts. It looked like Voldemort had done more than just torture him, but she couldn’t be sure- she wasn’t too knowledgeable about the Dark Arts. Nevertheless, the scratches that marred his skin were varying in depth and length, and the longer she stared, the more Hermione realised what had happened. They were self-inflicted. Avery had done this to himself.

“You should have,” he coughed, and she was dragged out of her reverie. “You should let me _fall_.”

“Don’t be silly,” she dismissed faintly, trying to appear aloof, but his words shook her.

Avery breathed in and his breath out was shaky and uneven, his chest quivered. Hermione looked at his face. His eyes were clenched shut and there were tears leaking from them.

She tried to concentrate on cleaning him up, and the wounds had already started to clot. Once she had cleaned the blood off of him, she reached for her wand and silently healed his wounds. It was only when she was done, that Hermione noticed he was saying something, repeating the same thing over and over, under his breath.

“I hate myself,” Avery was muttering in a small, sobbing voice. Hermione stopped and stared at him. “I hate myself. _I hate myself.”_

Her tears fell, and she gripped his hand tightly. “Don’t say that,” she told him. “Don’t you say that.”

“But it’s true,” he whispered. “I killed her, Hermione. I killed that woman…”

“You had to,” she told him, and her voice bordered on desperate. “Or He would’ve killed you. You know that.”

Avery shook his head, and Hermione brushed away the damp strands of hair from his eyes. “But what makes my life worth more than hers? Who gets to play God and decide that?”

His voice was strained as he demanded it, but she honestly didn’t know what she could say to him because she didn’t know. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, didn’t know.

He swallowed and when he spoke next, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His voice was little more than a whisper in the wind. "If the monster always dies at the end of the book, why am I still alive?”

Hermione looked at him, lips pursed tightly. She said firmly, "You are _not_ a monster, Frédéric Avery."

"Oh really?" He asked, his voice increasing in volume; the anger almost palpable in the air. He tried to shuffle out of her lap, but she wouldn’t let him. "You don't even know me! You just showed up out of the blue, crashing into my life, acting all righteous and angelic but you don’t know me! You don't know half the things I've done-!"

"No," she agreed. She tried to remind herself that he was just upset, that he didn’t mean the things he said, but her eyes grew hot regardless. Hermione swallowed and she said, "But I know that you regret them and that you hate yourself for doing them because otherwise you wouldn't waste your time on speaking to me and sometimes you don't need to beg for redemption. Sometimes it comes and finds you."

"I don't deserve redemption," Avery said and his voice was now low, ragged and broken; a fractured sob that not even the stars could hear.

"Maybe not, but I'm giving it to you anyway.” Hermione stared at him, his hands were clasped tightly in hers, and he was finally shattering. It was like he had been strong for so long, _too long_ , and now his anguish was pouring out of him. Hermione was there to catch it. “You're forgiven, Avery. Whether you feel you deserve to be or not, _I forgive you."_

Avery stared at her then, with a little bit of disbelief tainting his red-rimmed eyes. Hermione stroked his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and she smiled a small smile. He melted into her, nestling his head in her knees and his eyes fluttered to a close. She waited until his breathing had evened out a bit, before she shuffled to get comfortable.

 “Stay,” Avery mumbled, and his eyes, barely visibly under his drooping eyelids, were locked on her. His hand was clutching hers so hard that both their knuckles had turned white. Hermione had no intention of going anywhere. “Please stay with me.”

“Of course,” she whispered.

And that’s where Hermione spent her night; in a dark and secluded alleyway, with a piece of Voldemort’s soul screaming inches away from her, and a fallen boy sleeping soundly on her lap.

And it was odd, she thought. But she couldn’t think of anywhere else she would be.


	58. Chapter 58- The Absent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've uploaded sooner but I've been rather sick these past few days, and I wasn't really able to move, much less write. I'm so thrilled at how much you guys have been reviewing! I love all of them so much, and please don't feel like a bother! Feel free to message me or send me long reviews, I really don't mind! They make my day. In fact, they've been the only thing cheering me up in and amongst all the vomit!

** Chapter 58- The Absent **

 

Hermione had cast a warming charm on both herself and Avery after he had fallen asleep, and a disillusionment charm, as well as throwing the cloak over them. They slept in the alleyway behind Honeydukes, wrapped up in one another, too physically and mentally exhausted to move.

She woke up first, as soon as the first streaks of sunlight billowed down to Earth, blinding her. They had only gotten a few hours’ sleep but it would have to be enough. Hermione couldn’t risk them being found by one of the residents.

“Avery,” she murmured, patting him gently. He didn’t even stir. “Avery, you need to wake up.”

He nuzzled closer to her, cracking one eye open. “What?”

“We need to get back to Hogwarts before anyone realises we’re missing,” she said, nudging him again. Avery sighed and rolled onto his back, looking up at her. He still looked impossibly bleary and drained, but there was a little more life to his dark eyes. She knew he wasn’t entirely awake, for he didn’t seem embarrassed by their close proximity. On the contrary, Avery was smiling slightly.

Hermione lifted him off of her lap, so that she could climb to her feet, holding the invisibility cloak in her fist. Avery followed her up, and she noticed him try to hide his wince. He was still in pain.

They made their way over to the back door of Honeydukes, where she tapped her wand against the lock and it slid open. Inside, it was dark and the floorboards seemed to creak at the slightest breeze. Avery found the trapdoor in no time, prompting Hermione to wonder again how often he did this but she didn’t comment, simply dropped down into the passageway and helped him clamber after her.

They walked as quickly as possible, which wasn’t that fast, all things considered. Nevertheless, within half an hour, they were back within the walls of the castle, feeling sweet and tangible relief flood through them at last. They were finally safe.

They climbed out of the statue to find the corridor was empty; it appeared Hogwarts was still deep in its slumber. There was nothing to fracture the serenity of the early morning, not even as Hermione and Avery stared at one another, chests heaving, bloody and tired.

She saw his eyes slowly dim, regaining that dark flintiness she associated with him, and his entire face shut off. There were so many things she needed to say, so many words that her brain desperately tried to string together and tongue desperately tried to form but they all evaded her. Instead, she stared at him, watching in silence as he drew further and further back into himself until it was too late.

He breathed out unevenly, before turning on his heel and walking away from her.

Hermione knew it was now or never and she started forward, calling after him. "Avery-!"

He paused. He waited for her to continue but the words that she needed to say; the " _it's okay_ ", and " _you're not a monster_ ", and " _I'm glad you're alive_ " all slipped from her, like marbles rolling from a pool of sanity.

But it was like Avery knew anyway, for he looked at her and the very tips of his lips curled. "Goodnight, Granger," he said.

Hermione just watched him walk away, broken and bloody, but with his head held high and she was once again struck with how Slytherin he was.

She turned and started in the opposite direction, heading back to the Common Room, hoping she'd be able to get a few extra hours of sleep.

It never even crossed her mind how odd it was; the image of two people, just seconds ago united in fear and mission and friendship, walking away from one another, like they hadn't been a part of each other. They were two separate people, a strange team, but a good one, for when they came together, they didn't just meet- they collided.

Hermione made her way back in no time at all, and she felt something heavy settle in her bones. Not terribly heavy; not the sort of heaviness which had you dragging your feet along the floor, willing for your body and mind to just collapse so it would all be light again. It was the kind of heavy associated with missing something, and as the Fat Lady came into view, she slipped her hand into her bag and let her fingers feel the diary. The leather was coarse under her fingers, and the feel of it made Hermione's heart skip a beat. She'd only been touching it for a moment, but she could already sense the darkness oozing through the pages, the monster lurking within the book.

Hermione retracted her hand quickly and said the password, watching as the door swung open. She stepped inside.

There was a certain calmness to the Gryffindor Common Room, so different from where she had just been, and it washed over her, like she could finally breathe clean air. From the deep red walls and gold curtains to the fire, which was still purring in the grate, it all elicited such a content feeling and Hermione knew that she may venture into the serpents lair and sleep in the shadows, but this was where she belonged. This was home.

She crept across the room, heading towards her dormitory, when something cut her short.

"Did you have a nice adventure?”

She jumped, turning around to the direction of the voice, and when she saw who it belonged to, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Remus was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees.

Hermione laughed slightly. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she teased. He didn’t even look at her and she felt a frown pull at her eyebrows. “Remus?”

“So did you?”

“What are you talking about?”

He repeated patiently, “Wherever it is you go. Did you have a nice time?”

She stared at him, glad that his attention was fixed on the fire; her entire body had frozen at the question. How did he know? More importantly, how _much_ did he know? He still hadn’t looked at her and Hermione tried to feign ignorance, “I don’t know what you mean-”

“Hermione,” Remus sighed, and there was a slight edge to his voice, as though he had hoped she wouldn’t lie to him and she had just let him down. He stood up then, and faced her. Now that he was looking at her, there was no way she could continue it, and she met his gaze, defeated.

“How did you-?”

“Never mind how I knew,” Remus said, his light eyes were steady. He breathed in. “Where were you?”

Hermione swallowed, looking away from him and she heard him sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him- that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It was just that she didn’t know how he would react, knowing that she had spent the night in the literal clutches of the enemy. They didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t broken goods, she didn’t have fragile tape wrapped around her; she didn’t need their protection. Everything she was doing, regardless of the risk, was to save them. But the Marauders wouldn’t see that. She knew they would only see the big blaring danger signs above her head.

“Nowhere,” Hermione lied. Remus closed his eyes briefly, painfully.

“I think we’re going somewhere,” he said quietly. “I think we’re making progress, think you’re finally being yourself around us and then it comes back to this.”

She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I don’t know, Hermione,” Remus said. “You’ve been sneaking off for much longer than what you’ve let on and I’ve never asked you before-”

“Then why are you asking now?” She questioned in a low voice.

“Because it’s 5 in the morning and you’re covered in blood, looking like you haven’t slept in days!” Remus exploded, eyes wide and voice straining. “Because I care for you and if anything happened to you, _I_ -”

He broke off, the rest of his sentence catching in his throat.

“I’m not a little girl,” Hermione replied stonily, her face harsh as flint.

He looked at her, slack with despair. “I know, but I can't help but worry! Don't give me that look. You didn't want us joining the Order and I didn't get mad at you. Now you're clearly off doing God-knows what in the middle of the night, and you come back covered in blood-!"

"It's not my blood," she murmured.

This seemed to vex him even more and he looked at her incredulously. "That's not any better!”

Hermione clenched her jaw and said, “It’s fine. I had everything under control.”

“What’s everything?” Remus asked, arms folded across his chest, looking older than she could ever remember him looking in this time period. Her eyes cut sharply to him.

“None of your business, that’s what,” she spat, turning on her heel and heading towards her room.

“Then how am I supposed to help you?” He called after her and she spun around, eyes blazing, voice bordering on breaking. Hermione was very close to hysterical.

“ _I don’t want your help!”_ At this point, she didn’t care who heard, because she was sick to death of everyone thinking she was incapable. Hermione Granger had not survived a war to be dubbed as such. She continued, her voice high and shaking with something so much more than undulated fury, “I don’t want your help, Remus. Not yours, not anyone’s. I can do this by myself and that’s exactly what I plan to do. You have no idea- you have no idea _whatsoever_ of what it’s like, of what it’s like going to sleep and wondering whether you’re going to wake up the next day, of having to cherish every single time your friend laughs just in case it’s the last time you see it! _I do-!”_

“You’re so impossible!” Remus yelled at her, hands gripping his hair. He looked like he was bursting, ripping at his already torn seams. His scars seemed to whiten. “You think you can do this on your own but you can’t, Hermione! You’re so broken that at this point you’re just going to get yourself _killed!”_ She stared at him, eyes wide, chest heaving. He sounded so exasperated. “Don’t think I don’t see it. You’re planning something… You’re trying to take Him down, aren’t you?” Realisation dawned on Remus’ face, like the sunrise outside, and it was the most heart-breaking thing Hermione had seen. He looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. “You’re trying to kill Voldemort.”

**oOoOoOo**

Regulus Black had not been seen for 52 hours.

It had come to light when McGonagall complained to Slughorn that his student had not been to her detention. Slughorn, fearing the Deputy Headmistress, had searched high and low for the boy, asking around for him to no avail.

Nobody had seen him. It appeared Avery had been onto something after all. Hermione did not find out until breakfast the following day.

They sat in the Great Hall the next morning, and there was nothing in the air to suggest that a sixteen year old was missing at all. Owls hooted, students chattered, cutlery clanged against golden plates. Hermione hadn’t been able to sleep after her confrontation with Remus. She had stared at him, shocked to her very core, before turning around and silently retreating to her dormitory, leaving him standing in the middle of the Common Room, alone.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the table, next to Peter, who appeared to be telling him something about Emeric the Evil, but Remus wasn’t listening. Hermione stared at him, wishing his eyes would flick to her. She didn’t know what it was, but she missed the steady presence of him beside her terribly and she hated it.

“Have you and Remus had your first domestic?” Lily, who was sitting next to her, asked, bumping her shoulder into Hermione’s.

She sighed, dragging her eyes away from him. “I suppose you could say that.”

Lily pulled a sympathetic face. “What over?”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Hermione replied quietly. The redhead frowned.

“I’m sure that’s not true. He was going to-” Lily said, then she broke off, sucking her lips in. She looked like she was pondering something.

“What?”

She winced and warned threateningly, “You didn’t hear it from me!” Hermione rolled her eyes, but nodded anyway. “Remus told James, who told me, that he was planning to borrow the cloak to take you into Hogsmeade. I think he wanted to apologise after… well, you-know-what.”

Hermione stared at her, feeling something sink inside of her stomach. She closed her eyes briefly. She could remember the time that she wasn’t so hypervigilant, the time when she didn’t have to worry about everyone’s safety and her biggest concern was what grade she got on her latest essay. She could remember the person she used to be, before the war, but that person had become a ghost; someone she could remember only in snippets and fractures, and even then the image was hazy and incomplete. That was why she hadn’t wanted her friends to join up- because even though Hermione had lost herself, she didn’t want them to have to suffer that too.

Lily didn’t even need to question what was racing through her mind. She just looped an arm around her shoulder, nestling her head in the groove of her neck and held her close. Hermione had never been more thankful for the wonder that was Lily Evans.

Their moment was interrupted fairly abruptly, as James strode towards them. His hair was all over the place and there was something desperate about the pinkness of his cheeks and the heaving of his chest.

“Have any of you seen Sirius this morning?” He demanded, as soon as they got within earshot. Hermione felt confusion flood her body. There were a few bemused exchanges, but he was only answered with shakes of heads. James closed his eyes and sighed. Then, without warning, his eyes shot open and he slammed his hand down on the table beside him.

The bang resonated, echoing around the hall and attracting the attention of everyone sat down for breakfast. There was a dulling silence.

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall exclaimed, marching towards them, bewilderment tangible on her face. “Do mind the mahogany!”

James’ tongue darted out to lick his lips and he said, “I’m sorry, Professor, but the table’s wellbeing is really the least of my concerns right now.”

“Mr Potter,” she said, in a softer voice. “Is something troubling you?”

He looked up at his teacher, ragged and worried, and Professor McGonagall knew the answer. But before anyone could say anything else, Marlene and Dorcas appeared, panting. James regarded them eagerly.

“I have good news and I have bad news,” Marlene said, looking at each of them. “Good news- I’ve found Sirius.” She barely gave them enough time to sigh in relief before she continued, “Bad news…” She cringed. “He’s fighting Malfoy.”

**oOoOoOo**

They followed Marlene to the corridor she had last seen him in, and the scene that graced their eyes was a familiar one.

Malfoy and Sirius were circling one another, and a small crowd had formed to watch. They both looked dishevelled and bruised, and Hermione felt her gut wrench at the sight. Her eyes strayed to Malfoy, and it was strange to see this usual side to him when she had been exposed to the one at the ball; the caring and frightened friend. It was hard to imagine him as anything more than a one-dimensional arsehole.

“Come on,” he was taunting, spit and blood flying from his mouth. His wand was raised in front of him. His eyes were glinting. “Come on, Black. Come punish me because you couldn’t look after your baby brother-”

Sirius wasted no time. He discarded his wand, throwing it to the side, and launched himself at Malfoy, punches flying. Malfoy didn’t even have time to cast a spell and he was rammed against the floor repeatedly; Sirius’ fist making contact with his perfect jaw.

Hermione felt her blood run cold at the mention of Regulus. She remembered what Avery had said, and her breath came out as a choking gargle of air.

Remus and James pushed through the crowd, barging past everyone in their way. They ran to the two boys, and each grabbed one of Sirius’ arms, wrenching him off of the Slytherin. That didn’t stop him from fighting though.

Malfoy clambered up, picking up his wand and shoving it in his pocket. He wiped the blood that was pouring from his nose and snarled, “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him! _You’re_ his brother, Black.” He spat at Sirius’ feet and hissed, “ _Don’t blame me.”_

Sirius struggled profusely, writhing and twisting but his friends were too strong and they kept him rooted to the spot, unable to do anything as Malfoy shoved his way through the crowd and disappeared down the corridor. Hermione swallowed, eyes locked on the place the Slytherin had just been standing. If anything had happened to Regulus… It was most certainly _not_ Malfoy’s fault…

James let go of Sirius, physically exhausted at having to restrain him. He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes snagged on the students still loitering. “What are you all staring at?” He shouted at them. “Go on. _Shoo!”_

They scarpered, not willing to get on James Potter’s bad side. Remus was still holding Sirius, who had calmed down if only for the simple reason that he was no match for Remus’ werewolf strength.

“You should’ve let me kill him,” Sirius growled under his breath, eyes still hot and furious.

“Oh, because that would’ve gone done well,” he responded, sarcasm tinging his voice.

“I should’ve turned into Padfoot and bitten his fucking head off.”

Remus winced slightly as he tried to turn his friend around and put him against the wall. He managed to do so, but Sirius was still spiked with adrenaline. He was shaking under Remus’ hands, and Remus was unsure whether it was only due to the fight he’d just been in, or something more.

“Sirius,” he said gently.

Sirius seemed to relax ever so slightly at the sound of his name, and he melted into the wall. It happened again; Remus caught sight, just for a fleeting moment, of the crumbling boy beneath the tough exterior. And then it was gone, his arrogance taking over like a smokescreen.

Remus swallowed and said, in a careful voice, “If you go starting fights with every Pureblood out there, you’ll-”

“Catch a few Death Eaters?”

“End up dead,” Remus said forcefully.

Sirius stared at him. “Everyone ends up dead eventually.”

Remus felt his entire body slacken, and he stared right back as he said unevenly, “Yes _, but not you_.”

And something, vulnerable and understanding, appeared in Sirius’ dark eyes, as they stared at one another. No explanation was needed for Sirius knew. It was times like these where Remus wondered whether he was wrong, horribly wrong, and wondered whether Sirius Black was not as invincible as what everyone thought him to be, but just another mortal human, untouched by the Heavens and condemned to the same wretched fate as the rest of them.

“What in Godric’s name is going on here?” Professor McGonagall commanded as she swept around the corner. Her eyes barely touched them before they landed on Sirius and softened. She addressed the rest of the group sharply. “I do believe you have classes to attend?”

Not one of them left straight away, but at the Deputy Headmistress’ piercing stare, they slowly headed to their first period. Marlene and Dorcas were the first to go, taking Mary’s hand, who looked terrified at what she had just seen, and leading her away. Hermione, James and Peter remained where they were stood, waiting for some sort of sign from their friend. Sirius noticed and he nodded at them, letting them know that he was okay and it was okay and it would all be okay. It was a lie, of course, and they all knew it, but none of that mattered.

Remus stayed.

“Go,” he muttered, pushing Remus’ arm. A small smirk cracked his lips. “Don’t want you getting behind on your notes.”

Remus couldn’t smile, and he didn’t move an inch until Sirius stared him in the eye and said again, “Go.”

And he did.

Now, it was only Sirius and Professor McGonagall. She cleared he throat and moved closer to him.

“Mr Black, I heard you’d gone missing.”

“I was hoping they’d put up flyers like they do for lost cats," Sirius said. "Missing, one stunningly attractive teenage rebel. Answers to ‘Sirius’, ‘Padfoot’ or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I think that would have enticed me back sooner-”

"Mr Black," McGonagall started.

"See, that was not on the flyer."

"Mr Black," McGonagall said again, softer this time.

"Sorry," Sirius said quietly.

The older woman stared at him, a certain gentleness to her gaze, and she sighed. She pursed her lips. "Sirius, I am going to tell you something which I very much hope you remember. You are not your parents. You are not their child. You are your own person. You are James Potter's best friend and my student and Regulus' older brother." She paused, and said in an impossibly soft voice, "You are your own person, Sirius, before you belong to anyone. And it would do you well to remember it."

Sirius was quiet for a long time, eyes locked on a cut he was picking at on his hand, before he muttered, "Favourite student."

McGonagall regarded him through mutely surprised eyes and then a small smile curled her thin lips and she conceded, "My favourite student."

They stared at one another and then the professor lifted her hand and patted his youth-splashed cheek, before she turned on her heel and started walking away.

"Minnie!" Sirius called, after a moment of deliberation. McGonagall looked over her shoulder and he seemed to falter. His grey eyes were earnest. "Thank you."

She merely smiled at him. “Now get to class, or I’ll be forced to give you another detention.”

His ears perked at that and he repeated, “Another?”

McGonagall smirked. “No member of my house starts fights and gets away with it, Mr Black. Perhaps you should remember that as well.”

And she left him standing in the middle of the corridor, staring after her, dumbfounded. But a grin slowly stretched across his face and he shook his head, before turning and heading to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST LOVE MINNIE SO MUCH! IN FACT I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH!!  
> Please tell me what you think:) I hope you're all well!   
> Everliah


	59. Chapter 59- The Child

** Chapter 59- The Child **

****

McGonagall made plans for them all to go to the Potters, with hopes that Sirius would be able to calm himself without causing any more trouble.

Normally, so close to their exams, Hermione would have been stressed to the very roots of her hair, but she found herself relatively uncaring. She still wanted to do well, but there was a large part of her that wondered whether there was any point. She hadn't even left school yet, and she was already fighting. What good would NEWTs do her on the battlefield? Who knew whether she would make it out of this one alive?

They had all just eaten, and Hermione moved to the sink, tying her hair back and rolling her sleeves up. She took the closest pot and the cloth and began to wash up.

Although she wouldn't admit it, she was glad for this temporary respite. The Potters had all but adopted her, and even the smallest smile from them made Hermione feel that whimsical sense of balance that only parents could evoke, when they looked at you and you knew, despite everything, it would all be okay. She was grateful for that, because there were parts of her, sometimes, that seemed disconnected from the rest of her, parts that nagged and made her question whether victory was possible. It was nice to have reassurance every now and then, especially when it came in the form of Dorea and Charlus' sparkling eyes and warm embraces. Hermione scrubbed the pot harder.

Remus appeared beside her, holding a pile of dirty plates, which he placed down on the countertop. His eyes flicked to her briefly, and she looked away from him, focusing all her attention on the pot. She heard him sigh lightly, and then she felt his hand taking the pot away from her, whilst the fingers on his other hand ghosted over hers.

“I can do it,” Hermione said quietly, but she let him take her place anyway.

Remus didn’t even look up, simply continued washing up for her. He said, “I made you a cup of tea. One sugar, no milk, with a spoonful of honey. The way you like it."

Her eyes fell on him and she opened her mouth, momentarily speechless before she murmured, "Thank you."

There were two teas by the kettle, and Hermione knew which was hers by the darkness of the beverage. She picked them both up, turning and heading to the living room but she paused in the doorway. An apology froze on her tongue. She closed her mouth and carried on walking.

The sheer scale of the living room was not only impressive, but also an asocial strategic advantage. There were three separate settees in this room alone, as well as a few armchairs, and her family were all scattered about. Dorea and Charlus sat beside one another, fingers loosely interwoven, watching as James and Peter conjured up little animals, made of multi-coloured sparks, to fight in the centre of the room.

Sirius was sitting on the floor, with his back resting against the front of the nearest sofa. He didn't look overly engaged with the battle before him, but was staring into space instead.

Hermione moved to sit beside him, bumping her shoulder into his. She passed him his drink and he sent her a small smile, holding it between his hands but making no move to drink it.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

Sirius didn't reply, his face was precariously blank, and as she glanced at him, she was struck, like she often was, at how beautiful he was. Eventually, he said, "When we were younger, he used to come into my room after I fought with mother... And we'd just lie there, staring at the ceiling. We didn't talk. And I knew that, as long as my brother walked the earth, I'd never really be alone. Not even in that wretched family."

Hermione didn't know what to say. There was a frightening tone of finality to his voice, of grievance, which she didn't think she could face. She lowered her eyes to the floor.

"He still walks the earth, Sirius," she murmured. "We just don't know whereabouts on the earth just yet."

Sirius sucked his cheeks in and nodded. "Yeah I know."

"And he loves you very much," she continued. "Even though you haven't spoken in years-"

"I saw him," Sirius interrupted quietly. Hermione forgot what she was saying, trailing off and staring at him.

Dumbfounded, she blinked. "What?"

"I saw him. The night he went missing," he said. "It was late and he was coming out of that room. You know the one, on the seventh floor. I don't know how he found your room, but he was coming out of it. And I tried to keep walking but then I saw his face and-"

Sirius cut off. Hermione watched him carefully, clinging to every lingering morsel of hope. He was staring into space, eyes intensely fixated on something that wasn't truly there.

"He was black and blue and bleeding, trying to hide the bruises with his cloak. I don't even think he saw me until I called his name-"

_"Reg?"_

_The younger boy froze. His eyes darted up, catching on his brother, where they remained. He looked like a deer caught in a hunter's headlights. Except this particular deer had a large bruise blooming over the right side of his face, and his lip was bleeding. He was clutching his arm to his chest tightly, as though it was broken._

_Regulus opened his mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly. He spun around and started down the opposite side of the corridor, keeping his head down, trying to get away._

_"Regulus!" Sirius said again, louder this time. His brother didn't even slow down, so he ran forward, grabbing hold of Regulus' arm once he got close enough and swinging him round._

_Up close, the bruises looked worse and Sirius recoiled at the sight of his baby brother looking so broken. His eye was swelled shut, and his skin was a rainbow of greys and purples and greens. He looked like no child should ever have to look._

_"What happened, Reg?" Sirius whispered, horror making his voice hoarse. His grip on him faltered._

_Regulus tried to shake off his grasp, but to no avail. It tightened again, until Sirius’ knuckles were deathly white. He stayed silent, refusing to meet his eye. Sirius let out a pained noise._

_" **Regulus** ," he said, and he almost sounded to plea. "Please tell me who did this to you. I'll kill them, Reggie. I will-"_

_"Oh really?" Regulus replied quietly. "I didn't realise you gave a shit."_

_Sirius stared at him, then swallowed. "What are you talking about? You're my brother."_

_" **Now** I'm your brother?" Regulus said loudly, finally looking at him. "Funny that. You haven't seemed to care for the last five years. What's changed now?"_

_"What do you mean I didn't care?" Sirius repeated incredulously. His voice was rising too. "All I've done is care, Regulus! All I do is sit and wonder whether Mother's finally started hitting you, whether they've roped you into that sick little party they're involved with, whether you're eating enough and sleeping at night! All I can fucking do is care about you, Reggie-"_

_"THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE?" Regulus yelled at him, and his voice broke because this was what he meant. This was what everything always came back to in regards to Sirius, and for five years, he had tried to push it all back so he wouldn't feel anything but now it came pouring out. He was tired of holding it back, of suppressing all the hurt and the pain because **it did** hurt and **there was** pain and there was no point denying any of that now!_

_Sirius stared at him, open and unsure and it was so foreign an expression for his face. His heart was shattering, creating cracks on the surface, and as he stared at his brother, he finally saw him for what he still truly was; a scared, little boy. The same little boy who needed him to check under the bed for monsters, and cut up his steak for him. The same little boy who would climb into bed with him every morning, regardless of what day it was, and ask the first question that popped into his head. The same little boy who only read Peter Pan and slept with a secret lion teddy, because it represented everything **they** didn't. The same little boy that he left in a house full of those same monsters Sirius had had to check under the bed for, without so much as a look behind him._

_Regulus closed his eyes, face screwing up, and he was crying a lot. He said, **whimpered** , "You left and I needed you. And now I **still** need you and you're **still** not there and I don't know what to do... But I can't wait for you to come home again. I can't wait for you to whisk me away to someplace where we'll never have to grow up." Regulus stared at his brother through red-rimmed eyes, and they were both crying. "Because I did that once. And the first time you left, you never came back and then we both grew up and now it's too late."_

_Regulus' voice was very, very quiet, barely a fracture in the space between them and he said, "Now it's too late, because the monsters you promised to protect me from are everywhere. And I can't escape them."_

There was silence; Regulus' final desperate snarl was a whisper on the air. Hermione stared at him. Her voice was a hushed murmur because she didn't think she could manage any louder. "What's happened to him, Sirius?"

Sirius' voice cracked and his entire face crumbled, tears falling down his cheeks.

"I don't know."

And Hermione's eyes dropped away from him, staring in front of her because it was easier than seeing all of the hate and guilt and worry flood Sirius' face. She remembered what happened to Regulus in the original timeline, and the little green dragon that Peter had magicked, breathed a wave of vibrant, hot _fire_.

**oOoOoOo**

_"But what if it's too late?" Regulus whispered._

_The terror leaked into his voice._

_"I don't think it is."_

_"But if it is?"_

_She paused, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Hermione licked her dry lips and said shakily, meaning every word, "I won't accept that."_

_Regulus' expression morphed into something else, something indecipherable. There was a newfound crease between his eyes. He said, almost breathlessly, "Where did you come from?"_

_Hermione frowned. She hadn't realised but she was trembling. "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean no one else would do this. You're different, you're so- different," Regulus spoke as if he was having difficulty finding the right words. "You're not like anyone here. You're so much more."_

_She shook her head and said, "I'm not. I'm just a girl."_

_His lips curled imperceptibly. Regulus' voice was quiet when he said, **"I won't accept that."**_

**oOo**

“Hermione, dear, are you in there?”

Hermione was ripped unceremoniously from the past, and she took a deep breath to help clear her head. She was sitting on the bed in her room, and the quietness had left her as a prisoner to her own mind. That was dangerous, even she knew that.

She cleared her throat, willing her voice to sound normal and called, “Yes.”

Mrs Potter’s head popped around the door, and her sweet face, deep with laughter lines, broke into a smile as she made her way further into the room. She had a pile of neatly folded clothes in her arms, which she placed on the dresser, before she came over and sat on the bed beside Hermione.

“You look faint, sweetheart,” she frowned, concern leaking into her voice and features, as she brought a hand up to check her temperature.

“I’m fine,” Hermione replied, offering her a small smile to ease her worry. “Honestly.”

Mrs Potter didn’t seem to buy it, for she regarded her through dark brown eyes that swam with the love of a mother. She finally said, “Is this because of Regulus?”

Hermione didn’t reply, unsure as to how much she knew. She simply lowered her eyes to her hands, which were interlocked in her lap. Mrs Potter sighed and said quietly, “When Sirius first appeared on our doorstep, all those years ago… I knew what had happened.” Hermione’s eyes shot to her, and she sealed her lips, held her breath. “It was rather obvious and if I hadn’t known from the bruises, then I would’ve known for the way he flinched when I took him in my arms. No child should ever flinch in a mother’s embrace.” She paused, mouth still open, with wistful eyes and it was almost like she was reliving that day. “I didn’t ask him what had happened because I knew he wouldn’t tell me. But James had already told us that he had a younger brother… and, I wanted to march over to this woman’s house and take this child by the hand and march him right back out of there because children need to be raised with _love_ and _affection, not spars_ and _punishment.”_

Hermione listened, hanging onto every word and she could see it, clear as day, in the air around them: the broken boy; the despairing mother; the lost cause. It made her feel sick.

“But before I did anything, I spoke with Dumbledore. I told him that Sirius would be staying with us until he was old enough to leave and Albus reminded me that he wasn’t my son… And I said he’s _as good as._ And so, I set up a room for him, and we bought him lots of clothes and posters and small things that would make him feel more at home, forgetting that this had been his home for far longer. But Albus would not let me rescue that other boy.” A tight and unamused smile curled Mrs Potter’s lips, and she shook her head. “And now Merlin knows what’s happened to him. _A child…”_

She sniffed, and her eyes became clear again, as though she only just realised where she was. She sent Hermione a more genuine smile, and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, would you look at me. I’m getting all emotional!”

Hermione smiled and leant her head onto Mrs Potter’s shoulder, silently comforting the older woman, who rested her head on top of hers. She pulled away once she had stopped crying.

“What about your parents, Hermione?” Mrs Potter asked warmly, soft and loving. “What were they like?”

Hermione knew the question was innocent, but it didn’t stop the pain in her chest, which felt like she had just been stabbed right where her heart was. She wondered for a second whether she could even remember them, whether the feel of being tucked in at night and kissed on the forehead, of being loved and loving so fully in return that you felt true happiness, was lost to her. She tried to remember… and she could.

It was something she would never forget.

“They were, erm,” Hermione’s lips stretched into a smile at the memory of her parents. “Dentists. Uh, like doctors that tend for your teeth. It’s quite a reasonable profession in the Muggle world. They were always obsessed with my teeth, making sure I brushed twice and day and flossed and mouth-washed so they would be perfect.” Her smile faltered, when she remembered Draco Malfoy cursing her so her teeth would grow uncontrollably, and running through the corridors with ones that reached her neck. Her mouth went dry and she dispelled the image immediately. “They were the most perfect parents you could ask for; loving and kind and generous… And they would read to me. Every night.”

Tears filled her eyes and Hermione closed her eyes. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry, because in this time period, she seemed to cry all the time and that wasn’t like her at all! She was strong! She wasn’t supposed to break down every minute of every day!

Mrs Potter’s hand found hers, and she squeezed it tightly. “They sound like lovely people,” she smiled at her. There was a hint of sadness to the curves of her expression.

“They were,” Hermione replied. She was struck with the image of her father sitting out on the porch with her, pointing out all the different constellations, and her mother baking brownies and dabbing some of the mixture onto her nose. The tears poured freely now. “When the war happened, I had to make sure they would be safe. Being friends with Harry was dangerous and I knew that… So as soon as _He_ came back, I erased their memory and sent them to Australia.” She paused, then whispered, “They’d always wanted to go to Australia.”

And Hermione tried to smile, but the gesture just _hurt_. And then she lost it all.

A sob left her throat, then another, and another, until she was crying and Mrs Potter had to shuffle over to her, pulling her close, wrapping her in a mother’s embrace. And it was warm and tight and her sobs were muffled by Mrs Potter’s warm shoulder because she was holding her _so tight_ , tight enough that all of her broken pieces stayed together.

“They’d be so proud of you, Hermione,” Mrs Potter was murmuring into her hair, rocking her back and forth. “So proud. _You brave, brave girl.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I love this chapter. It’s not overly necessary to the plot but I think it’s needed and I like it so it’s going up   
> THANK YOU SO SOOO MUCH to the person who suggested a bonding moment between Mrs Potter and Hermione! It was like you read my mind! I knew I wanted to do it (it was the point of sending them home actually) but I had no idea what to do it on until your review so thank you! You are a GODSEND!   
> Also, I know that it’s hinted that Hermione erased her parents’ memories and sent them away at the beginning of Deathly Hallows, but I once read this theory that suggests she sent them away a lot sooner than that, as early as the summer between the fourth and fifth book. It would make sense as Hermione seems to spend A LOT of time with the Weasley’s, time she would otherwise be spending with her parents. I think it’s also a very Hermione thing to do- plan ahead, thinking in advance etc. Obviously, this isn’t canon but I like to consider it anyway.  
> So tell me what you think!! And you’ll have to wait and see what’s happened to Regulus Have a good night (or day if you’re on the other side of the world!)


	60. Chapter 60- The Threstrals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait! I'm normally so good with updates but I was rubbish with this one! And I left it on a cliffhanger with Regulus as well! So I do apologise profusely!  
> Hopefully, this makes up for it. I have a feeling you'll like this chapter:)

** Chapter 60- The Threstrals  **

 

The Hogwarts grounds were surprisingly soaked in sun. Despite the crispness of the earth and the coldness that Hermione felt through her cardigan, the morning was light and bright and drenched in yellow. She strolled down the dirt path, head down, hands out to steady herself, feeling the wind bite at her cheeks. She had to keep her eyes on the rockery to ensure she didn’t trip.

Hermione heard him before she saw him, whistling loudly as he worked in his garden. And then, his bushy head came into view, the tangles of his beard, the flush of his kind face. Her lips stretched into a wide grin.

"Hagrid!" She yelled, running a little down the hill. He turned around and his entire face lit up at the sight of her coming towards him.

"'Ermione," Hagrid greeted, sticking his shovel deep into the earth and smiling fondly at her. "'Ow are yeh?"

"I'm great," she replied, beaming at him. "How are you?"

Hagrid nodded. "That's good. I'm good. Haven' seen yeh in a while!"

Hermione instantly felt guilty, and she said, "I know, I've been meaning to come visit for ages! But what with exams and all..."

"Well, we've missed yeh," he smiled at her and there was a loud bang from near his hut. Hermione's eyes shot in the direction of the sound.

"Fang!"                                                                                  

The little puppy (although he was considerably larger than the slobbering bundle of wrinkles she had last seen him as) appeared from the cabin, waggling his tail so fast it blurred. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and a trail of drool accompanied his mad dash towards her. She knelt down and tickled his ears, laughing as he spun around in excitement, whining and barking and dribbling.

"Yer just in time," Hagrid said, leaving the shovel planted deep in the earth as he lumbered over to her. "I got some new 'erds that I need to check on, if yeh wanna come with."

Hermione was more acquainted than most with the wonderfully bizarre abundance of magical creatures in the forest. In fact, she'd come face to face with a few of them more than once. And despite the fact that it had almost cost her her life a number of times, the allure was still rooted deep inside of her. She smiled and said, "Yeah. Okay."

Hagrid beamed at her, and they made their way into the woods. The trees were thin here, barely two metres between each one and their canopies of leaves still let streaks of sunshine billow down; it pooled on the floor. Hermione breathed in and she tasted the freshness of the forest. There was something so serene and welcoming about this place that had her feeling light and airy, almost like she was floating without her feet ever really having to leave the ground. Well, about the outskirts that is. The further in you went, the more that feeling diminished.

They hadn't walked for very long when Hagrid held up his arm, and they both stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, "Now, don' be alarmed. It's alrigh' if yeh can' see 'em."

Hermione froze. She knew what herd he had taken her to see before the first one emerged from the bushes.

" _Threstrals_ ," she breathed, staring at them. The first horse had been joined by five more, of all different sizes. There was a foal on long, quivering legs, staggering by its mother. Her eyes traced the curvature of their hollow bones, lingered on the way their thin wings trembled in the wind.

Hagrid looked surprised. "Yeh can see 'em?"

He knew what that meant. So did she.

Hermione smiled sadly, trying to stop herself from crying, and she said softly, "Yeah."

And it was difficult to not remember the deaths that made this possible. She tried not to think about the way Sirius fell through the veil; how Draco crumpled to the floor, his last words drying on his bloody, traitorous lips; the way Ron's bright blue eyes, which had once sparkled every time they had fallen on her, grew wide and dull as the life was ripped from his body-

A wet nudge at her hand startled her and she focused on reality to find a Threstral nuzzling her fingers. Gingerly, Hermione acquiesced, lifting her hand up to pet it's warm and bony head. There was something strange about the creature and she was struck with the overwhelming bewilderment of how something associated with death could be so warm.

"I think 'e likes yeh," Hagrid said quietly. "Terribly misunderstood, Threstrals. They're not omens of death, more of a souvenir." He paused. "But withou' the good part, I suppose."

There was a silence, which the forest seemed to echo. The Threstral whinnied under her touch, but Hermione couldn't say anything to Hagrid because he was right and there was nothing more to it.

Abruptly, the serenity was disrupted by a small explosion. Both of their heads shot up, eyes wide and fixed on the spirals of black soot dissipating upwards from where they had just come from.

"Ah dear," Hagrid muttered under his breath.

Hermione's eyes cut to him in alarm. There was another bang from the direction of the hut, and a cloud of smoke billowed upwards shortly after.

He opened his mouth to explain then stopped, his beard twitching, before he said eventually, "I may ‘ave left the Blast-Ended Skrewts alone in me cabin."

She looked at him in exasperation. "You might want to go check on that. They're surprisingly uncharismatic."

"That's one way of putting it," Hagrid said, and he offered her an apologetic smile. "I'll be righ' back!" His assurance didn't make her feel any securer than before, and she just shook her head fondly at his antics. He beckoned Fang to follow him back through the trees. Hermione watched him go and her attention was only torn away from the thicket he had disappeared through by another small explosion. She huffed a laugh, before returning her attention to the Threstral in front of her.

There was a sadness to the horse's entire being, one which made Hermione wonder whether this souvenir of death was aware of its meaning, of its colossal and unyielding association with impenetrable death. She wondered whether it knew the effect it had on people- the subconscious way it conjured up every death she had ever witnessed to replay before her eyes like a knife that was sinking through her chest. By the way it closed its eyes and enjoyed her ministrations, she guessed it did not.

Behind her, a twig snapped and she spun around, shocked by the sudden sound. Avery stood in the clearing, between two trees, looking like he wasn't there at all.

Light threaded through his dark hair, and his eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them. A small part of her relished in how alive he looked; it was the same part of her that had worried restlessly that after the night at Malfoy Manor, Avery would never truly be whole.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello," Hermione replied.

Neither one of them said anything else, simply stared at one another. It was the first time she had seen him since that night.

She swallowed. “Are you alright?”

But he didn’t reply. Instead, his eyes flicked away from her, travelling past her, and the breath he was taking caught in his throat. Avery's face cleared. "What are they?"

Hermione looked back at the Threstral, which was nuzzling her hand to encourage her to keep petting its head. She swallowed, and said, "They're called Threstrals. They pull the carriages."

A small, tight-lipped smile flashed across his lips and he said, "The carriages pull themselves."

She shook her head, but he didn't give her chance to continue.

"No? I've been going to this school for seven years, which is six years longer than you. I think I'd know if something was pulling the carriages-"

"You can only see them if you've seen death."

There was silence, and Avery stared at her. She hesitantly dragged her eyes to look back at him.

"I've seen death before," he said in a quiet voice. "My Uncle died in front of me."

Hermione replied, "But you've never understood the implications of it before. You need to be able to understand death to see them. It's like a souvenir."

Avery's eyes were glued to her, as though he didn't dare look at the creatures in question. Out of fear for what it meant or simply because he didn't want to, Hermione didn't know, but she held her hand out, enticing him closer.

Albeit unwillingly, he edged towards her, letting her take his hand and gently move it to one of the Threstrals. She heard his breath hitch.

Under his fingers, the creature whinnied, pushing its head up into the palm of his hand. His breath then rushed out in a relieved laugh. Hermione watched him, the smile curling her lips instinctively. There was something so unprotected and vulnerable about him like this, when he wasn’t trying to fool anyone with his cold exterior. He stroked the Threstral, and his eyes were soft, and his face was youthful and sweet. She faltered ever so slightly.

Sometimes, it was strange for her to remember that after everything, Avery was still just a child. He was human, just like the rest of them. He bled red blood and cried tears and when he laughed, it shook the heavens.

"What you did-" Hermione began quietly but he cut her off. There was a faint blush heating his face and he spoke in a low voice, with his head down.

"Nothing," Avery said. "I did nothing."

"That's not true. I was there, Avery," she said and her voice was low and trembling. "I was there and I saw what you did. And it doesn't make you a monster."

"THEN WHAT DOES IT MAKE ME?" Avery demanded, an explosion of uncontained fury for himself. Only ever himself. The Threstral flinched away from him; _death_ flinched away from him.

Hermione sucked her lips in. "It makes you Avery. It makes you someone who did what they had to do to survive-"

"And what does it make her?"

She wavered, and uttered, "Who?"

"The woman I killed."

Hermione lowered her eyes, and her jaw clenched as it tried to summon the words for her reply. But what could she possibly say?

Avery watched her, eyes hooded, as though the heaviness of his guilt could not even keep them open.

"You don't know what it's like," he said finally. "You don't understand."

She stared at him and she felt a terrible rage coiling inside of her. She did not watch all of those people die, both before her eyes and by her hand, to be discarded as though she was just another foolish child.

"I've killed people too," Hermione said quietly. He paused. "I've watched the light drain from their eyes, I've watched them fall." She swallowed. "I've seen my friends die all around me... So don't you say I don't understand. _Don't you dare_."

Avery was staring at her, face frozen. "Hermione," he said in a low voice. "What are you talking about?"

And she realised then that there was no point lying to him anymore. He had followed her unwaveringly into the serpent’s lair, had blindingly trusted her and looked out for her. It was about time she told him the truth. All of it.

**oOoOoOo**

 

His eyes pierced her.

"You're from the future."

Hermione nodded, gauging his reaction.

Avery took a while to process this, but his eyebrows quirked upwards and he said, "That actually makes a lot of sense."

She laughed slightly. "Does it?"

He didn't smile, just stared at her.

"And that's why you're so concerned with saving everyone," he said. "Because you didn't save them the first time round."

Hermione eventually tore her eyes away from him. He always said things so bluntly. She didn’t know whether this was why she liked him or why she hated him.

Avery scoffed and said, "Have you considered the possibility that you were always meant to come back in time? That it was you coming back in the first place that resulted in everything happening the way it did?"

Her face crumpled, and she whispered, "Of course I have."

He regarded her coolly. "Then why do you believe you can save them?"

Hermione felt her eyes grow hot and the anger writhed inside of her.

"Don't," she gritted out. "Don't start this now."

"Don't start what now?" Avery questioned loudly. "What exactly am I starting, Hermione?"

"You know!"

In a cold voice, which matched his demeanour, he said, "Do enlighten me."

Hermione's eyes cut through him, like an axe through ice. She said, “I _can_ save them. Stop trying to change that. Stop telling me I can’t.”

“You’re so naïve!” He yelled at her, veins pulsing underneath his skin. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. “You’re so undeniably stupid! I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I ever-”

The words stopped mid-way in his throat, and it seemed he wasn’t willing to let them leave his mouth.

Hermione stared at him. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest, so hard that she could hear the vibrations in her ears. She said in a deathly quiet voice, “Go ahead, look me in the eye and tell me I mean nothing to you. _Break me._ I need to feel some type of emotion soon or I’ll end up as cold as you.”

Avery stared right back at her, and it looked like he was struggling with something. His throat tightened and he looked away. “I can’t,” he said. “You know I can’t do that. It would all be a lie.”

Hermione was shocked, and the numbing sensation spread through every part of her body, rendering her speechless. She knew she should say something, anything, but the words evaded her and she could only stare at him, with her mouth slightly parted.

Avery sighed, flattening his hair down, which had since become unkempt from the wind. Without looking at her, he began to walk away. Before he disappeared through the thicket of trees, he said over his shoulder, “Oh, Regulus is back. I just thought you’d like to know.”

Hermione didn't even take a moment to breathe before she started running. She ran out of the forest, all the way up to the castle; she bolted around corners and raced down corridors; she scanned every alcove and glanced in every classroom. She had to find Regulus.

The worry electrified her body, fuelling her, and all that ran through her mind was what she was going to say to him once she found him.

It took her a while, and every empty inch she came across increased her agitation and desperation to find him, to verify Avery’s words. He had to be here. He had to be safe. She rounded another corner-

And there he was, standing on the opposite side of the corridor, looking exactly the same as she could remember him looking. His skin was pale and untouched, his hair was smoothed down with those two unruly strands that he never seemed able to flatten. He was _whole_. Her breath trickled out of her lips in an uneven sob of air, and Hermione couldn’t contain the flooding and crushing relief that swarmed her body.

Seemingly aware of someone’s eyes on him, Regulus turned around. He froze when he saw her.

They stared at one another.

"Avery told me you were here," she murmured. It was the first thing that came out of her mouth and she knew she should've said something else, but she couldn't find anything else to say. Everything that had rushed through her head whilst she had been running was trickling away. She wanted to tell him she'd missed him, that she'd been sick to her heart worrying about him. Hermione wanted to tell him she was glad he was okay.

But she didn't.

Regulus swallowed. "I heard you and he had gotten close. He's fond of you, you know. Not that he likes to admit it. He wouldn’t tell his own mother he loved her, even on her death bed."

She felt her cheeks heat up, and the acknowledgement made something flutter inside of her, something like relief for she could still feel the heat of his fury from minutes before. But her focus wasn't on Avery at the moment. It was on the boy who had gone missing for four days, with no explanation- the boy standing in front of her now.

Hermione's jaw tightened and she folded her arms. She licked her lips and her voice resonated and shook and broke when she said, "I thought you were dead."

There was no flash of shock, nor sliver of incredulity in Regulus' expression and it struck her then how very probable that was. She had foolishly clung to the naive belief that he would be okay, if not for the fact that he just _had_ to be okay. But for all she knew, he could have been dead. It scared her more than she would like to admit.

“My Father took ill. I had to go back to look after him.”

Hermione stared at him, and it was obvious from his shuffling and determination to avoid eye contact, that he knew she didn't believe him. But she didn't care. It didn't matter that he was lying about where he had been (truthfully, she'd had her suspicions all along). It didn't matter that he had frightened her to death, and that she hadn't slept for the past four nights. What mattered was that Regulus Black was there, standing and breathing and _existing_ , in front of her.

A small sob escaped before she could stop it and she started forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her. At first, he didn't seem to know how to react, but he slowly melted into her embrace, hugging her back, allowing the safety of her arms to lull him. Hermione cupped the back of his head, cradling him closer and cherishing the feeling of his breath ghosting her neck. They were clutching onto one another so tightly, and she could feel the indentations he made in her skin from how hard his grip was but she didn’t move or lessen her hold on him, lest he disappear- this time, for good.

"I was _so_ -" she broke off, the words getting stuck.

"I'm sorry," Regulus replied, clutching onto her tightly. His voice was muffled in her neck. _“I’m so sorry.”_

**oOoOoOo**

The Common Room had never felt so far away, but Hermione’s legs were moving as fast as they could. Her body thrummed with the gleeful knowledge that Regulus was alive and unharmed, and she couldn’t wait to tell Sirius.

She gasped out the password, bursting through the Portrait Hole, before pausing. They were all there, sitting in their usual spot in front of the fire, but they were subdued. Their eyes all fell on her.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. She hated to say it but this uncharacteristic adoption to their demeanour unnerved her.

"We saw you today," James said. Lily shot him a warning look. "With Avery."

" _James_ ," Lily said, but he took no notice. Hermione's eyes flicked to Remus, who was staring at his hands, folded in his lap.

"Me and Pete went to get a Snitch from the Quidditch cupboard, and he saw you in the forest together," James continued, frowning. "Why were you alone in the forest with him, Hermione?"

He was shaking his head, not accusatory, but like he just couldn't quite understand. Peter guiltily avoided her gaze; it was obvious he had not expected a confrontation but she supposed it was best he learned now what feeding someone information could lead to. Better early than too late.

"He's my friend-"

 _"Your friend?"_ Sirius repeated, in his low and dangerously disbelieving voice. Hermione wanted to close her eyes and leave because she knew this side of him, and she didn’t like it, especially when it was against her. “With all due respect, kitten, I think friend is a strong word.”

She kept her lips sealed, and waited for him to continue.

“I mean, _I’m_ your friend. _James_ is your friend. _Peter_ is your friend. _Remus_ is your- well, Merlin knows what he is to you,” Sirius said.  Hermione felt the blush creep into her face. “Avery is a Death Eater. He’s not your friend! He’s a fucking snake-”

“Regulus is back,” she interrupted quietly. “I saw him and he’s okay. I can still save him. It’s not too late-”

It was only then that she realised what she had said, and it had the opposite effect she had hoped for.

Sirius faltered, but he regained his trail of thought almost immediately. He said, "Since when are you in cahoots with my brother?"

Hermione stared at them all. Lily looked uncomfortable, and Hermione knew she was remembering their conversation long ago, late at night about how some people aren’t good or evil, they’re just scared. It echoed back to her now. Remus finally looked at her and there was something scrutinising in his brown eyes.

“It’s where you’ve been going,” he said, realisation dawning. “That’s where you go... Was it his blood?”

“ _Blood?”_ James repeated incredulously, looking between them. “Someone was bleeding?!”

Remus didn’t answer him. He was staring at Hermione, looking like he had just swallowed something very heavy.

“You’re trying to take down Voldemort with him,” he uttered.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, but it was enough. Remus inhaled shakily. Peter seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

Sirius’ eyes were cutting to all of them, fiery and demanding. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

Hermione finally looked at them all. “I’ve got it. I’ve got the first Horcrux.”

The reaction was one of shocked silence, where the four boys just stared at her. Lily’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “What’s a Horcrux?”

“It’s an object that contains a part of someone’s soul,” Hermione said. “It means that unless the object is destroyed, the person can never be killed. They’re practically immortal.”

Her lips parted to form a small ‘o’ shape, and her green eyes were wide and mutely horrified as they regarded Hermione. She said, “So you’re saying Voldemort is immortal. That we’ve no way of beating him?”

“Not entirely. We can find and destroy his Horcruxes and then kill him… For good,” she explained. “Only, he made seven.”

“ _Seven?!”_

“Seven.”

“And you’ve found one?” Peter confirmed, and when Hermione looked at him, she saw that he looked as though he wanted to shed his skin and hide away forever. She really couldn’t blame him.

“Hang on,” Sirius said, massaging his temples as though this influx of information was painful to him. Perhaps it was. “I still don’t get it. What do the Slytherins have to do with all this? What does- what does my brother have to do with all this?”

Hermione stared at him and her throat was dry and her eyes were wet, and the truth- well, it burned her lips.

"I'm trying to save them," she said. "I'm trying to save the Death Eaters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I need your help. I'm going to do a big time-jump to move on with this story and plunge into the First Wizarding War so is there anything you would like to see before that happens? It can be anything! I'm open to suggestions about what antics Hermione and the Marauders could get up to. Whether you want another Hermione/Avery scene or a Wolfstar or Jily scene, or another prank or another lesson or any interaction you're curious to see play out in this universe? I really need your help cause I'm drawing up blank and I need ideas for at least one more chapter before the time-jump. Thank you my lovelies!


	61. Chapter 61- The World

** Chapter 61- The World **

 

The days after that became a lot less constrictive. She no longer had to tip-toe around anyone to meet anyone else and even though Sirius was still a little weary of Avery, it seemed he was willing to not kick off every time Hermione spoke to him, which was an achievement, however small.

"And they're okay with it?" Avery asked unsurely, glancing at her friends who were stood further down the corridor. Hermione pulled a face.

"They will be."

On their way to breakfast the next morning, she had spotted Avery and made a beeline for him, much to her friends' chagrin. She'd told him what had happened and watched as his expression had soured.

"Well, just don't expect me to be all friendly with them," he said, and his lip was still curled which gave her the impression that he was not overly enthusiastic about this revelation.

"Oh don't worry! We won't be making daisy chains with you anytime soon either," Sirius called. Hermione shot him a poisonous glare over her shoulder and he immediately adopted the innocent facade. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not asking either of you to drop your pathetic little prejudices," she said and they both spluttered indignantly.

“I don’t have a prejudice,” Avery sneered.

“It’s not _pathetic_!” Sirius trilled.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. "I'm just asking you to stop acting like four year olds every time I speak to the other because you're _both_ my friends. Like it or not."

She directed this last part to Avery, whose eyes were fixed on her.

" _Fine_ ," Sirius said loudly. He then wiggled his finger accusingly. "But don't think you’re going straight on the Christmas card list. You have to earn that shit."

Avery looked deeply perturbed by this, and he shook his head. Remus sighed. Sirius appeared rather pleased that he had managed to convey his point effectively, and he turned on his heel and flounced off. The rest of them followed him, but Hermione remained.

“About yesterday,” she said, looking at the floor.

“What about it?” Avery asked, also looking at the floor.

Hermione flicked her eyes to him. “I meant what I said.”

"If I'm not a monster, Hermione, what am I?" He asked calmly, finally looking at her, and he seemed so much more accepting of his position than he had yesterday. There was nothing at all in his face to show he cared.

"You're Avery," she replied, and her voice was delicate. He simply stared and the silence evoked a desperation deep inside of her to say what she needed to say to him. It was something that she had avoided for as long as she could, but there were some things you simply _had_ to voice. "You're not a monster. You can't be because I-"

But Hermione couldn't voice it.

"You can love a monster,” Avery said quietly. His eyes were delving into her, and there was a darkness to them that made it so she could not look away. “It can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature."

Hermione continued to stare at him because it was all she could really do and he must have known that she could think of nothing else to say, for a small smile curled his lips. Avery reached out to touch her hand fleetingly. He said, soft and teasing, “The great Hermione Granger speechless? Why, I never would’ve believed it. This is a day for the history books.” And he turned and made his way down the corridor- she watched as he disappeared around the corner.

“You two are close,” a voice pointed out. Hermione jumped, her hand flying to her heart. She looked in the direction it came from and her shoulders slumped.

“ _Lily!_ You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Lily was stood where Sirius had previously been standing, leaning against the wall with a curious smile on her face. Hermione shrugged her bag further up on her shoulder, and moved towards her. Lily hooked their arms together and they began walking to the Great Hall.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so much as a crack a smile,” Lily said, laughter lacing her velvet voice.

Hermione replied grimly, “Neither have I.”

The redhead looked at her in alarm. “But you’re his friend!”

She shook her head, jaw clenching and said in a distant voice, “I don’t think he’s had a lot to smile about.”

Lily’s emerald eyes snagged on her. There was something etched into the pale and freckled contours of her face that showed her empathy. Her voice was light but thoughtful when she said, “You’re a sucker for the wounded puppies, Hermione. All anyone has to do is show you they’re bleeding and you jump.”

Hermione swallowed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Lily shook her head and smiled gently. “It’s just an observation. And I think it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. You love so freely.”

Hermione stared at her, warmth spreading through her chest, but she didn’t have time to reply. The Great Hall enveloped them in a din of chatter, and they let it wash over them as they headed towards the Gryffindor table.

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with a snake,” Sirius said as soon as she sat down opposite him.

She didn’t react, merely said, “ _Snakes_. Plural.”

He pulled a face, eyebrows raised. “Thank you for that correction. It makes me feel _so much_ better!”

Hermione smiled sweetly, helping herself to some breakfast. Lily snorted and sat down beside her.

Peter leaned eagerly across the table towards her and said, his eyes sincere, “I stand by what I said, Mione. If he ever causes you any trouble, I’ll sort him out for you.”

She laid her hand over his and said, “You’ll be the first one I come to, Pete.”

His large ears flushed a hot pink and he sat back in his seat, all at once very proud and very confident. Remus, on her left, noticed the exchange and said, “I’m offended. Do you not think I could protect you?”

Hermione glanced at him as she cut into her egg. “I don’t know. Do you think you’d be able to handle a big, bad snake?”

Although her tone was joking and an amused smile curled her lips as she ate, Remus still managed to look affronted. He tipped his head closer to hers and said seriously, “I’ll have you know I’m a werewolf. I could rip his head off!”

“Mm,” Hermione hummed in consideration and his offence increased tenfold. “Maybe.”

“ _Maybe?”_ Remus spluttered, voice high with incredulity. “Most _definitely_.”

And she couldn’t continue it any longer; the laugh bubbled out through her lips and she had to put her cutlery down, and use her now free hands to stifle her mirth. Remus, who still looked hurt, glanced sideways at her and as he watched her go pink from trying to bite her laugh back, a slow and reluctant smile stole across his face too. He didn’t try quite so hard and it was his laugh that triggered her amusement to double. Hermione let her head fall back onto his shoulder, and he muffled his laugh with her hair. She could feel his happiness reverberate through her bones and mingle with her own that lodged there.

Sirius watched them disapprovingly, shaking his head. “You’re both mad,” he said.

Hermione grinned at him. “Oh, but it’s a most wonderful existence. You should really think about joining us!”

He didn’t seem thoroughly convinced. If anything, his worry seemed to increase and he sighed deeply and said, “To think, the entire future of the Wizarding World is in your hands. We’re royally fucked! I should write to Mother and tell her what a horrid being she is and how I’ve had no pleasure whatsoever in knowing her before it’s too late!”

Her smile faltered then, just a smidge, even as Remus laughed even harder beside her. Lily seemed to notice, and she slipped her hand into hers. It didn’t do her well to bode on that minor truth. She couldn’t let it consume her, or she would be no use whatsoever.

“We best get going now if we want to be on time for class,” James said, pushing his glasses up his nose to secure them and standing up. Hermione was glad for the interruption.

“What a nerd,” Sirius murmured to Peter, whose face contorted into one of incredulity, but they all followed him out of the Great Hall anyway.

He turned to Sirius and exclaimed, “You literally stalked McGonagall for two years to find out when her birthday was so you could send her presents.”

A deep red blush stained his face, and his eyes shot to Hermione. She raised her eyebrows, a playful grin stretching her lips. “Well, it’s all coming out now!”

“That’s only because I thought she’d go easier on me for when I didn’t do my homework!” Sirius defended indignantly and then added, “Which was often.”

“And did it work?”

His face dropped and he said glumly, “No. Not even the slightest. In fact, she ate all the chocolates and sent me back the box with all the essays I’d missed. She’s absolutely and diabolically savage to a man with an already broken heart!” Sirius huffed. “If I’d have wanted that response, I would have sent the chocolates to my Mother!”

Peter and Remus grinned. James clapped his friend on the back sympathetically. Hermione and Lily shared a glance that showed perhaps they had spent too much time in Sirius’ presence and they pitied the other for it.

Over the redhead’s shoulder, Hermione’s eyes snagged on someone else, with a familiar head of greasy black hair and hooked nose. His dark eyes caught hers for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be one minute,” Hermione said, slipping away.

Sirius let out an agonised groan and called after her, “What snake’s gotten its tail in a twist now?”

She ignored him, quickening her pace to catch up with Snape, who hadn’t bothered slowing down. She could see only the swish of his black cloak, flying up as it bit his heels.

“Hey!” She said, trying to get his attention. “Snape! _Severus!”_

Hermione saw him hesitate, and his head seemed to loll back before he finally stopped and turned to face her. He looked about as disinterested with her as was feasibly possible.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she greeted sarcastically.

“Since when are we on first name basis?” Snape asked in his monotone voice.

She cocked her head in mock-thought. “Since you refused to slow down to speak to me?”

He didn’t look the slightest bit amused by her answer, just continued to stare dully at her. Hermione huffed a curl out of her face and crossed her arms. Snape’s eyebrows furrowed and he admonished, “Don’t strop. You look like a two year old.”

“Maybe I want to act like a two year old,” she replied condescendingly. He looked at her like she was stupid.

“That’s not possible. You demand too much respect to ever willingly lower yourself to that level.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and said, “Why, I’m glad you’ve noticed!”

Snape inhaled deeply, eyes boring into her. “What do you want?”

This was enough to throw her off, and she shuffled, feeling her throat tighten up. His black beetle eyes noticed and a smirk flitted across his face at her unease. “Not so confident now, are we Granger-?”

“I want to save you from Voldemort,” she blurted out. Then she cringed.

Snape stared at her, mouth hanging open from where she had cut him off; the rest of his sentence dying on his lips. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’re not a bad person,” Hermione said, in a quieter and more controlled voice this time. “I know you don’t want to do bad things, to hurt people like you hurt Lily. I know that you’re actually quite good. You just can’t let them see it… but I see it. I can help you. If you’ll let me.”

Snape’s eyes were fixated on her and she chewed at her bottom lip. The silence stretched from meagre seconds in long minutes, which seemed to crash into her skull with their longevity. Eventually, he sighed and said scornfully, “I knew sitting next to you in Potions was going to kill me. But I never thought it literally.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, her anticipation ebbing away at his sardonic demeanour. “The whole point is you _won’t_ die!” Then, she added threateningly, “At least not at Voldemort’s hands.”

The flash in her eyes was warning enough, but it didn’t scare him away. Instead, Snape smirked and said, “You’re positively crazy.”

She grimaced. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first to reach that conclusion. Are you with me or not?”

He waited a few moments, before rolling his eyes and saying, “Well it’s one maniac or the other. I suppose you’re the less… unhinged of the two.”

Hermione felt the victory pump through her veins and she smirked slyly at him. “You’d be surprised.”

**oOoOoOo**

 

Remus’ fingers were sweaty in hers, and he adjusted his grip on her hand as he led her down yet another winding corridor. Hermione couldn’t get rid of the smile on her lips.

“Where are we going?” She asked for the hundredth time since they’d left the Common Room. He sent her a lopsided grin over his shoulder.

“You’ll see.”

It was five minutes later that they finally stopped and she saw where it was he was taking her. He clutched her hand and with his other, tickled the pear on the portrait in the basement. The picture swung open, and Remus offered her a smile as he led her inside.

Hermione hadn’t been here since their first prank so long ago, but it was just as she remembered it; cosy and homely, with low ceilings and the smell of freshly baked cake hanging tantalisingly in the air. She inhaled deeply, feeling her stomach growl for food.

“Master Remus!” A high pitched voice squealed, and a small House Elf, dressed in a frilly pink dress bounced towards them. “Master Remus!”

“Minky!” Remus greeted, bending down on one knee. “I like your dress. It’s very pretty. It makes you look like a lady.”

The House Elf flushed, wringing her hands together at the compliment, but her glee practically buzzed from her. She jumped into action straight away, hurrying Remus to his feet. “Come, Master Remus! I’s been working very hard, Master Remus! I’s been making all your favourites for you and the pretty Miss! Come! Come faster!”

She led them through the kitchen, speeding away, weaving through various other House Elves, who smiled happily at the pair of them. Hermione knew where they were heading, as Minky touched a small rounded door with her little finger. It clicked open and they all went inside.

The basement was just as warm and large and peculiarly grand as she could remember it; the four house tables stretched above their heads and torches cast a golden glow from their brackets around the walls. Except this time, a small circular table had been set up in the middle of the room, with two plates and a cup with one flower in.

“A Forget-Me-Not,” Hermione murmured, smiling as her fingers ghosted the blue petals. She looked at Remus, who was standing bashfully by the doorway.

“Surprise,” he said softly, holding his arms up. She bit at her lip before running over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. She hugged him close and tight, cupping the back of his head. His arms were secure around her.

“It’s wonderful,” she whispered to him, pressing a lingering kiss to his freckled cheek.

When they let go of one another, Remus took her arm and led her over to the table, pulling out the small chair for her to sit down on. “M’lady.”

“Why thank you,” Hermione replied, and the smile was fresh and enduring on her lips.

Minky appeared then with two hot chocolates, steaming and frothy, and they both thanked her and took one. She could not remember the last time she had had something that tasted this good, and her eyes closed in delight. Remus hummed contently. He moved the mug away from his face and Hermione sniggered, before shooting up to cover her mouth. The froth had left a chocolate moustache along his upper lip.

“Very sexy, I must say,” Hermione told him, grinning as he raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve always known I’d look good with facial hair ever since James charmed one to grow uncontrollably and refused to tell me the counter-curse.”

She laughed at the image, tipping her head back and letting her happiness pour from her mouth. Remus stared at her, the smile fading from his face as he sobered up. He said quietly, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For reacting the way I did that night.”

Hermione’s expression morphed into one of trouble and she shook her head, placing her cup down. “Remus, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not,” he said firmly. “I keep treating you like you’re some sort of child, like you’re unable to look after yourself and I know that’s not the truth.”

“You’re just worried. It’s not a crime.”

Remus swallowed, looking down at his hot chocolate. “I know. I just-” he broke off, tattered and ragged at the edges and Hermione felt torn watching him. “I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. If you _died_ -”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Hermione said softly.

Remus’ eyes shot to her then and they were pleading and urging and wet when he stressed, “Maybe, but it would be the end of _my_ world.”

She stared at him, feeling once more that feeling she got, swirling and fluttering inside of her. The only reason she was here was to change the future, and she had gotten swept away by the people here, those beautiful assortments of atoms and dust, that when they laughed, she felt the sound inside of her body, and when they smiled, she saw fireworks going off behind her eyelids. These people were _her_ world and that was all she was trying to do; all she was trying to do was save the world, and maybe, just maybe, it was okay if she just saved _hers_.

“Do you think I can do it?” Hermione asked quietly, her voice a trembling insecure whisper on the air. Remus offered her a half-smile.

“That’s the thing about people,” he said. “The ones that are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are often the ones that do.” His golden eyes crinkled. “And luckily for you, you’re absolutely bonkers.”


	62. Chapter 62- The Fleeing of the Nest

** Chapter 62- The Fleeing of the Nest **

****

“Hogwarts has seen many students pass through these halls,” Dumbledore said. “The bricks have witnessed many of you grow from trembling First Years into bold and successful witches and wizards, and now it is time for you to bid those bricks farewell; to say goodbye to the classrooms and Common Rooms that have taught and sheltered you, to the portraits and the grounds that have accommodated you; to say a final farewell to the castle that has been your rock and refuge, your home, for the last seven years."

Hermione felt a bittersweet smile pull at her lips. The Great Hall was filled with summer sunlight, trickling in through the high windows and falling on the seventh years. The months had passed in a blur, an exhausting cycle of studying, examinations and planning and now, they stood in rows, staring up at their Headmaster for what was to be the last time.

Remus held her hand. Sirius, on her other side, was uncharacteristically silent. Hermione squeezed his arm and wondered whether he felt that same numbing sadness deep inside at the thought of fleeing the nest, of leaving home forever.

Dumbledore smiled down at them, and Hermione felt, despite all of her misgivings about him, a warmth spread through her. His blue eyes twinkled more brightly and vehemently than she had ever seen them. He said, in his low and infinitely wise voice, “But please remember, that should you ever need it, Hogwarts will _always_ be here to welcome you home.”

As if on cue, the torches in the brackets lining the stone walls flared into vivacious life, and banners fell from the ceiling, showing the Hogwarts crest. Dumbledore beamed at them, and announced, “I don’t believe there is anything more to say but farewell! Farewell, and good luck!”

The seventh years threw their hats into the air, whooping and cheering. Sirius finally seemed to perk up, and his arm tensed under her fingers with frozen anticipation. Remus’ hand tightened in hers. Peter’s eyes were shining and she could hear James whispering under his breath:

“Three.”

The hats were a black cloud, brushing the high beams of the ceiling. They fell-

“Two.”

And fell-

_“One.”_

And exploded into vibrant fireworks, which shot off in all different directions, leaving streaks of yellow and red, green and blue, thick and effervescent. The cheers morphed into a wave of surprised laughter, rippling through them all. Hermione turned to Remus, eyes wide and said, “That was why you disappeared this morning?”

He grinned at her. “Well, we couldn’t very well leave Hogwarts without going out with a bang!”

The sparks banded together, existing in the air momentarily, before forming animals. The green stretched out languidly, and a giant serpent slithered through the air, hissing and spitting sparks on the students. It slid forward, and then upright, exploding in a brilliant flash of white light, and an eagle burst from the midst. It soared around the ceiling, screeching and swooping low, dragging its claw inches over their heads.

Hermione ducked, and felt the wind caress her hair. She lifted her head up barely a second later, just in time to see the eagle fly into the window and dissipate in a shower of blue sparks. There was silence, and everybody waited, with bated breath.

The badger climbed out of an invisible burrow, yellow in colour, and considerably calmer than its predecessors. It snuffled at the floor, before its head perked up and it began lolloping across the air and it leaped-

The lion it landed and roared in an eruption of red sparks. It opened its mouth, baring its teeth, before it raised its hackles, head low, and crept towards them. Its eyes were vacant holes, formed from magical whizzing light, and Hermione felt herself enraptured by them. The lion pounced all of a sudden, and it came closer and closer to them, with no sign of stopping. A few students screamed, but just before it reached them, it exploded and the sparks rained down on them all, covering them in a thin layer of multi-coloured paint mist.

Hermione hadn’t realised she was holding her breath, until she turned to Remus and inhaled shakily. The awe was present in her eyes and she smiled when he looked at her, wrinkling his nose because the paint tickled him. His golden hair was threaded with red and blue and pink and yellow, and his face was now dotted not only with freckles, but with tiny droplets of colour. She could only imagine what _she_ looked like.

Remus grinned at her and his hand reached up to cup her jaw. His smile softened as he leaned in and he kissed her, as their friends around them cheered and roared.

In the air, the smoke banded together to create a signature which read, boldly and proudly:

‘THIS DISPLAY WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE MARAUDERS. GOODBYE YOU BUNCH OF FUCKTARDS!’

Remus pulled back, and they looked up. Hermione scoffed disapprovingly.

“Sirius was in charge of the message,” was all that was needed in way of explanation.

And so, they stood in the Great Hall, in their robes, for the final time. Marlene and Dorcas had their arms wrapped around each other, grinning wildly. Mary snuggled into Peter’s side. James held Lily close. Sirius stood, with his hands on his hips, happiness shining from his uncontrollable grin and bright eyes.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” he said.

No one replied, but they all agreed. Instead, they blinked up at the display, smiles painting their faces, strings of euphoria streaming from their lips, and they choked on their youth as though it was something tangible, something they could clasp in their pulse-driven hands. And they tried- really, they did. But no matter how hard they tried to close their fingers around it, it tricked through the gaps, sifting like sand. It didn’t matter though. They were young for now, in this moment, and that was enough.

 

**oOoOoOo**

“We’re going to say a final goodbye to the Common Room,” James said, catching her arm. “You coming?”

Hermione’s veins were still buzzing and she felt electrified, but there was something she had to do first. She said, “I’ll catch you up there.”

His eyes followed hers and they landed on a certain Slytherin. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Don’t let Sirius catch you. He’s still not over you calling him _Freddie_ that one time.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can call him whatever I damn well please!”

James held his hands up in mock-surrender, and said, “Hey, I’m not arguing with you, sweetheart! Stick it to Sirius, you know, whatever you feel like. I’m just not sure it’s worth creating more drama.” He added woefully, “And you know Sirius, he’s the biggest drama queen going! He once cried because he ran out of conditioner just before a Match, so really, don’t take him too seriously.”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing. James offered her a smile, clapping her shoulder, before turning to run back to Lily. As soon as he got close enough, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to her head. Hermione watched them and felt like everything was falling into place.

Avery was stood in an emptying corridor, leaning against the wall, looking equally bored and content. It was very difficult to differentiate his emotions, but Hermione had learned that there was no point in trying. If he wanted you to know how he was feeling, he’d just tell you; she’d become surprisingly (and smugly) adept at reading him now, much to his chagrin. She made her way towards him. His dark eyes flicked to her.

“We never leave on the best of terms,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“No,” Avery agreed. “We don’t. Which is odd, seeing as we get on _so_ well.”

Hermione scowled, unsure as to whether he was being sarcastic or not. Nevertheless, she walked closer to him. He looked at her lazily, dark eyes sweeping her face like they usually did.

She stared at him, and all of her words became crammed in her mouth. “I’m very fond of you,” she said, and before he could properly react, Hermione stepped forward and kissed his cheek. She didn’t hurry in moving away from him, and so, she both heard and felt his breath catch in his throat.

His face was a bright pink, hot and flushed, when she finally stepped back and for the first time since she had met him, Avery smiled at her and said in a soft voice, “You’re delusional.”

A grin curled at Hermione’s lips and she said, “So I’ve been told.”

And her eyes lingered on him for just a moment longer, tracing his jaw and cheekbones, his eyes and long eyelashes; she committed his face to memory. Then, she turned around and started walking away, knowing her friends would be waiting for her.

“Hermione,” he called. She spun around. Avery had pushed himself off the wall and was staring at her. He shook his head lightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Hermione felt her eyebrows knit together. “What doesn’t?”

“Being a Mudblood.” Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins, and her hand shot to her arm instinctively. Avery’s lips curled into a thin smile. “It doesn’t make you lesser. It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He strode towards her, brushing past her, but not before his hand touched her arm, lingered there for a fraction, and he murmured with a smile, “Goodbye Granger,” before he continued walking, leaving her alone in the corridor.

“You can’t escape me that easy!” She called, without turning to look at him. Avery’s footsteps never faltered.

“Oh believe me, I’d be disappointed in you if I could!”

Hermione grinned, biting back a laugh, before she, too, headed away.

 

**oOoOoOo**

“I hate to admit it,” Sirius said, fingers ghosting over the curtain of his four-poster bed, “but I’m going to miss this place.”

Remus was sat at the end of his bed, next to Peter, who was even quieter than usual. James was strolling around the room, covering every inch of it, unwilling to leave a square of it untouched of a goodbye.

Remus replied, for the sake of replying since it seemed no one else was going to speak, “Me too.”

“Me three,” James muttered.

There was a second of silence.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” Peter mumbled, eyes downcast. Sirius looked at him incredulously, falling to kneel on the floor in front of him.

“You think you can get rid of us that easily, Pete?” He demanded, shoving his friend’s shoulder. “You’re dead wrong, mate. You’re gonna be stuck with us for a long time, until death do us part, actually. In fact, if we all die, then we’ll come back especially to haunt you and draw rude pictures in the steam when you shower. Sound good?”

And although there was the melodramatic lilt to Sirius’ voice, a small, reassured smile curved Peter’s lips and his large ears flushed pink at the thought of being in the eternal company of the three greatest people he would likely ever meet.

James swallowed and said, “It’s weird, though. To think that someone else is going to get this room when we’re gone.”

Remus let his eyes absorb every little detail and he said, “Nah, it’ll always be our room.”

James shook his head so hard his glasses wobbled. “No. No, because when we leave, new people will move in. And those new people will have no idea that-” he strode over to Peter’s bedside table, “-that Pete’s bedside table wobbles because he once nibbled at the legs when he was in rat-form. Or that- that-” he faltered, before his eyes lit up and he raced to the bathroom and exclaimed, “-the shower is big enough to fit a stag, a dog, a rat _and_ a very gangly teenage boy in all at the same time-!”

“Nor do they _need_ to know that,” Remus added grimly. He turned to Sirius, “You know, I still had dog hair behind my ear a month after that incident.”

Sirius just shrugged. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to always wash behind yours ears?”

Remus stared at him in exasperation and said, “Yes, but not because she feared I would ever get _dog hair_ up there. How did you even-?”

“What I’m saying,” James interrupted loudly, before his shoulders slumped, “is they won’t know all of the little adventures we’ve had in this room. They won’t know the little quirks or the best arrangement for forts. They won’t know any of that stuff.”

“No,” Peter agreed. “But they’ll make their own. And maybe their adventures won’t be as… _adventurous_ as ours were, but they’ll be just as meaningful. Just because it becomes their room, doesn’t mean it stops being ours.”

All four boys were quiet for a moment as they thought about this. Sirius clapped him on the back.

“Well said, Pete,” he murmured. Peter blushed, shrugging.

Remus’ eyes gleamed and he sat up straighter, head perked. It was what he did when he had an idea. Sirius noticed immediately and narrowed his eyes at him. “What?” Remus didn’t reply, so he turned to James and said, “I hate this look. I hate it when he gets this look-”

“What if we never left Hogwarts?” Remus spoke up. “What if we could stay here forever?”

The three of them clung onto every word, eagerly awaiting the reveal of his idea, but he didn’t continue. Sirius sighed. “You’re very anti-climactic. _You don’t do that!_ You’ve got to tell us what the idea is instead of building it up by being all vague about it!”

“A family tree!” Remus announced, grinning at them. His eyes shifted between them all.

Sirius stared at him. “A family tree?” He repeated dubiously. “You are aware we’re not _five_?”

“No,” he replied, bordering on impatient, and he shot up from the bed and moved over towards the wall on the inside of the window seat. Remus took out his wand and began drawing something, burning it into the paint.

“Hey!” Sirius yelped, standing behind him. “Minnie is not going to appreciate this new décor, Moony!”

But Remus ignored him. And slowly, each of the boys moved to see what he was doing. When he lowered his wand, all four Marauders stood and stared.

The tree wasn’t so much a tree as a collection of lines, all connected and intertwined together. He had left room for them all to write their names (filling his space in ahead of them) and draw whatever they liked as additional details and it was stunningly simple; nothing too showy or too bleak, but traditional Marauder. Sirius was the first to step up, and he wrote flourishingly ‘Sirius Orion Black The Third,’ with a little dog just underneath it and a paw print.

Peter went next, taking time to perfect his name and mouse doodle. He leaned his face in as close as he could, tongue poking out of his lips as he concentrated.

“Really Peter?” Sirius questioned, exasperation seeping into his voice. “Cheese?”

Pete’s face flushed deeply, but he just shrugged and said, “I _like_ cheese.”

James then finished the tree, adorning his name with antlers.

"What about the girls?" Peter asked.

Sirius stared at the tree, arms folded across his chest and said, "They'll have to earn it. Either that, or marry into it." His eyes slid onto Peter, and a sly grin curled his lips. He thumped him on the arm. "Don't worry mate, I'm sure Mary will make her way onto there one way or another."

Peter's cheeks grew hot and he punched Sirius back twice as hard. Ever the drama queen, he wailed and leapt away, announcing, "I'm going to tell Mary about this!"

This only helped to enhance his blush. They stared at their creation for a moment, before Sirius jumped. “Ah, I almost forgot!” He moved forward, drawing something above all of their names, an extra branch. When he was satisfied, he stepped back into line, allowing the others to read it.

There, at the top of the tree, read a single name:

_‘Minnie.’_

“There,” he said softly. “Maybe now she won’t mind the change in décor so much.”

The four of them stepped back and admired their work. The tree wasn’t too small, but it wasn’t too big. It was a charred drawing, with jilted lines and uneven branches forking off. Their names were written in their own hand; James’ painfully neat writing, Sirius’ elegant yet illegible scrawl, Pete’s disciplined but miniscule lettering and Remus’ sloppy and uncaring scribble, and above each of their names, Sirius had drawn their animal counterparts.

And it wasn't anything special; it was a carving of a tree into a school dormitory wall. But it was a piece of them, forever imprinted, eternally documented. It made them immortal, as long as this tree existed. It represented their friendship, and their love for one another. It represented their family. And that meant more than anything that had happened, and anything to come. It meant more than _everything else._

 

oOoOoOo

 

They ran down the moonlight-soaked grounds, as though the past was chasing them, laughing and holding hands and twirling. Their worries faded away, melting from their euphoric bodies. They were drunk on nothing more than life, and it was exhilarating. Dorcas and Marlene stumbled, passing a bottle of alcohol between them. Sirius had his arm thrown around Remus, despite the fact that the latter was taller than him. Hermione and Lily ran ahead, arms back, hair flying as the wind tickled their skin, laughing and not caring who heard.

The nine of them collapsed much later on the banking of the Black Lake, staring out across the glistening surface, entranced by the motion of the rippling water.

“Can I just say,” Marlene said, looking at them all seriously. “It has been an absolute pleasure to have known you.”

James pulled a face. “You’re still going to know us after this, Marls. We’re not going anywhere.”

She scowled at him, and took a swig of Firewhiskey, which she had somehow managed to sneak out from the graduation party. It must’ve scorched her throat for her face contorted. “You know what I mean.”

“I second that, though,” Sirius announced. He didn’t look at any of them, and continued to lie on his back, staring at the stars. His voice was strangely quiet. “Before coming here, I never thought I could have a family who I didn’t despise and want to send to the fiery depths of Hell. But you guys changed that… I finally felt like I belong and I think that’s why I ran away, you know. Because I realised home isn’t a person. It’s you.”

Remus turned to look at him, and there was only a stark and vulnerable truthfulness to his beautiful face. Sirius must have felt eyes on him, for he tilted his head upwards to meet his gaze. Remus offered him a small smile, which Sirius indolently returned.

Nobody spoke again for a while. They were all content to bask in each other’s company, relishing in the warm embrace of Hogwarts for the last time in a long time, and trying not to acknowledge the sadness settling in their bones.

“What do you think's out there?” James asked abruptly, and they stared forwards.

“Out where?” Peter questioned.

“I dunno, out in the world, waiting for us.”

Sirius scoffed, shooting him an incredulous glance. “Shit, that's a heavy question.”

They all pondered for a moment, the silence pressing in on them.

“I'm not sure,” Lily replied, breaking the quiet, “hope?

Dorcas wrapped her arms around her knees, and said, “A future?”

But Hermione knew. It was easy to forget when you had just pulled your last prank and graduated at Hogwarts, when you were sitting on the bank of a lake, with the stars as faithful witnesses to your ephemeral youth, holding somebody you love’s hand. And still, she knew what was out there, on their doorstep, waiting to snatch them from their short-lived childhood:

_“War.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I love you so much. Please keep your reviews coming- I can't believe how lovely you all are! I sometimes read them out to my mum and dad and just sit there smiling to myself!  
> So this chapter, I took on board a lot of what you said (THANK YOU SO MUCH- YOUR IDEAS WERE INVALUABLE!). There is a prank (of sorts), graduation, another Avery/Hermione scene and I decided to add a bit of Marauders bonding because I realise there hasn't been much of that in these later chapters.  
> I hope you guys are ready for the dark stuff cause I am not even going to hold it back now! Unleash the feels! Mwahaha!


	63. Chapter 63- The First Wizarding War

** Chapter 63- The First Wizarding War **

****

The explosions only helped to heighten the ringing in her ears, and Hermione stretched her leg out in front of her, biting back a whimper. Although the material of her trousers was covering it, she knew the gash was deep and she felt her whole body throbbing from the shock and pain of the cut. This was _not_ how this raid had been supposed to go down.

She picked up her wand from beside her and made a move to heal herself when she froze. Hermione poked her head around the corner of the wall, eyes scanning the smoking darkness for any sign of movement. Voices trailed to her, and she shot back around, retracting her head from their view. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, there was only an indistinguishable murmur, so she had no idea whether they were friend or foe. It wasn’t something she could risk either way.

But the voices grew louder, and closer and Hermione knew she couldn’t stay where she was. She managed to get to her feet, biting her bottom lip so hard it bled to keep the whimpers in. Gripping her wand tighter, she edged along the wall, head flattened back, eyes locked on where the voices were coming from. She moved slowly, careful to stay as quiet as possible, turning the corner-

She collided with something hard.

Hermione jumped backwards, gasp leaving her throat before she could stop it. The person’s hands closed on her arms. She began struggling without a second’s hesitation, writhing and lashing out.

“ _Hermione!”_

She froze. Hermione recognised that hiss. Her wide eyes shot up. _“Avery?”_

He didn’t look particularly pleased to see her. On the contrary, he appeared rather irritated with her. But other than that, he was exactly the same as she remembered him. His hair was a bit longer now, reaching and covering his ears, and a slight stubble had begun to grow around his jaw. He almost blended into the shadows.

“You’re unbelievable,” Avery said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Hermione, despite her current situation, still had the nerve to look offended. “Excuse me?”

“Imagine if I was someone else wearing the same robes, you’d be dead.”

She smiled sweetly at him and said, “It’s nice to know that you care.”

Avery still had a tight grip on her arms and he didn’t seem willing to let go anytime soon. His face fell and he sneered, “You’re funny.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you noticed.”

He rolled his eyes at her, evidently annoyed at her inappropriate prod at humour. She tried to balance her weight, but winched, and a small, pained hiss of air escaped her lips. Avery’s eyes cut to her.

They found her leg, where the trouser material was dark and sopping with blood. “You’re hurt.”

Hermione swallowed. She tried to play it off. “Well done, Sherlock.”

She expected him to look at her exasperatedly again, but there was nothing in his dark eyes or marble face to suggest he had heard her. He licked his lips nervously.

All of a sudden, Avery twisted her around and pulled her to his chest, stepping backwards into the shadows. He lifted her slightly, alleviating the weight on her leg. His hand shot up to cover her mouth.

The voices had gotten closer, too close for comfort. Hermione tried to shuffle back into him even more.

“Where the fuck is she?” One of them was saying. It was definitely male.

His companion sighed. “I don’t know! You said you saw her come this way!”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed and she turned her head to glance at Avery. His eyes flicked to her, and she could see he was thinking the same thing as she was. Whose side were they on?

“Mine or yours?” Avery murmured in her ear. She strained to hear them again. There was something vaguely familiar about their voices, but they were still too far away for her to know for sure, and the distant yells and explosions made it hard to tell.

“Fuck’s sake!” The first voice exclaimed, and Hermione held her breath. They were just around the corner now. “Where is she?!”

Their footsteps clattered in time to the sound of the blood rushing around her body, getting closer and closer and closer. She felt Avery pull his wand out of his pocket as the two people rounded the corner-

He used his free arm to push her out of the way, behind him, and brandished his wand. Remus and Sirius had their wands out too, but jumped nevertheless. A loud and terrified shriek left Sirius’ throat.

Avery let his arm drop to his side and he looked back at her in exasperation. Hermione wiped at her face, which was slick with sweat, and shrugged.

He clenched his jaw and said, eyes flashing, “Will you tell your pets to shut up when they’re in a war?”

Sirius raised his chin, suddenly stony, and started forward. “Don’t tell us how to _fight_ , Death Eater.”

Avery just stared at him. Hermione stepped between them and said, “Stop. We’re all on the same side.”

“Really? The Dark Mark on his arm doesn’t agree,” Sirius snarled.

She stared at him, seething, and said in a deathly quiet voice, “Just like your name on the Black tapestry doesn’t agree?”

Sirius recoiled, and he looked as though she had slapped him. Hermione didn’t take back the words but said, “We all have reasons to be fighting for Voldemort, but that doesn’t mean we are.” Her eyes found his perturbed face and Harry’s words echoed through her. “We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.”

Nobody said anything, but Remus was looking at her, with a small smile ghosting across his face. She offered him one in return and then a bolt of agony shot through her, and her leg gave way.

The three of them were on her in an instant. Remus asked frantically, “Hermione! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“My leg,” she murmured, and his face swam before her eyes. “Why are there four of you?”

Remus huffed a short, unamused laugh, and glanced up at Sirius, who had gone white as a sheet. He pressed his palm against her forehead and it was like an ice-cube, causing her to retract with a hiss. “She’s burning up,” he muttered.

Abruptly, Avery let out a pained and guttural moan and clutched at his forearm. His eyes were wild and ragged when he looked at them. “Go,” he urged. “Get her out of here now! _He’s coming!”_

Hermione wasn’t really sure what happened after that. The world went blurry and the last thing she saw was Avery’s stark and frightened face, looming in the darkness. The fear etched there was nightmarish.

 

**oOoOoOo**

She laid, feverish, slipping in between states of desperation and sleep. Hermione’s lips were parted, dry and cracked, and she wanted to speak but every word started and died on her tongue. Hooded eyes tried to open to see where she was, but her eyelids felt far too heavy. All she knew was that the something she was lying on was soft and comfortable, and someone was stroking her hair with delicate, feather-light touches. Their whispers were caressing her face, and it was their sound that finally lulled her to sleep.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

“The raid was a disaster!” Someone was stressing, when Hermione next came to. “Our only lead on where the Cup might be and they got to him before we did!”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and a groan left her lips. The discussion going on ceased immediately, and through half-closed lids, Hermione saw a flash of red hair. “Hermione? Are you alright?”

Lily’s voice was a sweeter thing to wake up to than the previous man’s urging, and she felt her hands help her into a sitting position. Looking around and blinking, she saw she was in the Order headquarters, lying on the small bed in the room they had dubbed the infirmary. There were only a few people stood around, staring at her. Caradoc and Datner were among them, and it seemed it was the former who had been arguing, as he was breathing deeply and the veins in his neck were pulsing. He seemed to have lost his trail of thought, however, and was looking at her, caught in mid-sentence.

Datner shot him a warning look, and made his way over, softening as he sat at the edge of her bed. “You had quite a nasty wound.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up at how dramatic it had all been, simply because of a small cut. He must’ve read her face, for he laughed and said, “It wasn’t an ordinary incision, Hermione. The spell must have been a dark one. When they got you back here, your leg was close to falling off and the poison had spread to your stomach. Luckily, they were just in time. If it had reached your heart, I’m afraid you’d be six feet under, not in this surprisingly comfy bed.”

“Your leg was black and dead,” Lily added, taking her hand and rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. She smiled shakily. “I thought Remus was going to throw up. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Hermione’s laugh came out as a breathless wheeze, and then her eyes landed on Caradoc. He looked away from her and it was enough to sober her up.

“What happened?” She asked, swallowing that part of her which didn’t really want to know.

Caradoc sighed and said, “They knew we were coming. I don’t know how. Found him dead in his living room and… well, you were there. You saw the explosion.” Hermione closed her eyes, frustration ebbing through her. It wasn’t like they weren’t busy as it was; attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns came daily, and small groups of them were being sent out by the minute. This was only another setback they could do without.

The Horcrux hunt was a lot different to Hermione’s last experience; they were a lot more organised, expecting the unexpected and planning for days before they acted. In her time, she, Harry and Ron had just launched into it, headfirst, and hoped for the best. It was perhaps not the best approach.

“Well, we’re just going to have to go back to the last person we knew had it, and work from there,” Hermione said. Caradoc levelled his gaze on her.

“It’s just wasting more time,” he said. “Time that could be spent tracking down this sick bastard’s soul.”

“And where would you start?” Hermione asked him coolly. His jaw clenched, but he broke eye contact and kept silent.

Lily pressed her lips together and said, “Does this mean they know?”

“Know what?” Datner asked.

“Know about our hunt. Know that _we_ know.”

The room fell into a silence that was as contemplative as it was dreading. Caradoc shook his head. “No,” he said. “How could he know? We’ve disguised every mission about it, covered up all our interrogations. How could he possibly know?”

A thought passed through Hermione’s mind, but she dismissed it as soon as it presented itself. No. He wouldn’t. Avery wouldn’t do that to her. The guilt flared up, and she swallowed back the shame of ever suspecting him. If she started second-guessing her friends, she’d forget about her enemies. The idea of Voldemort knowing already burned her brain.

She said slowly, “He was coming. That’s why Sirius sent up the flare to get out of there. Why would He come to that particular raid? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe He was just curious?” Lily suggested meekly.

Datner and Hermione shared a look. It was a troubling thought, to think that the darkest wizard of all time was hot on your tail; to think that he was _curious_.

Hermione added in a quiet voice, “All He’d have to do was check the Malfoy library, and see the diary was gone. He’s not an idiot. It’s His soul; the worst possible scenario would be the first one He’d go to.”

Caradoc covered his face with his hands, dragging his nails down his skin. He turned away.

Datner watched him, before saying, “Where is the diary?”

“Hidden,” Hermione replied. He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at his lips.

“That’s intriguingly vague,” he said, but he was nodding. “Probably for the best.”

“Probably,” she repeated distractedly, watching Caradoc pace. She said calmly, “It will be alright.”

He spun around and looked at her, incredulity staining his youthful face. “How do you know that? How could you possibly know that? You’re obviously here for a reason and you wouldn’t be trying to change so much if it was all ‘alright’.”

Hermione’s gaze never wavered and it seemed to calm him down. “I don’t know that. But what I do know is that three teenagers managed to get close to defeating him in my time. And now, we have the same knowledge but an army of skilled witches and wizards. If you ask me, those are pretty tempting odds.”

Caradoc looked at her, and he was fading away, ragged and unbridled, unconvinced. Hermione recognised that look; it was the look of someone who had given too much and received too little, someone who had loved and lost more than he could handle. He was the epitome of dying hope, but the regimental drive in him was still searching for a reason to go on.

“One day the world will be beautiful,” she told him, and he looked to devour every word. She hoped this was reason enough. “I promise.”

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

“How’s your leg?” Sirius asked her, coming to sit beside her. There was a fresh bandage wrapped around the wound, despite the fact that it had been healed as Datner feared it would open back up.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s numb.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. They both squinted out at the garden. “It just feels weird and heavy.”

The garden of headquarters wasn’t large. On the contrary, it was a small square box of green, with wild bushes and blossoming trees shielding it from unwanted eyes. In an uncontained, wild way, Hermione quite liked it. It was a pocket of peace, cut off from the conflict on the other side of the house.

The summer after Hogwarts had been quiet and surprisingly devoid of any attack and they had laid low at the Potters. The first few weeks, they had all been on high-alert. Hermione, especially, had been taut with the trepidation and expectation of a battle… But none had come and so, slowly but surely, they relaxed and allowed themselves to enjoy the privileges of adulthood in the Wizarding World.

And then, September had arrived, bringing the yellow sun and the sight and smell of fresh blood on freshly pollinated flowers. It was nearing November now, and yet the month and a half of war had grown on them like a second skin. It was quite scary how accustomed you got to death.

“Who’s out?” Hermione asked as Marlene and James appeared in the doorway. James headed straight over to Lily, taking her outstretched hand.

“Remus, Emmeline and the twins,” he responded. “Just another raid.”

Marls fell to the floor, a long moan leaving her lips. She looked different with no make-up on. Her dirty blonde hair was ruffled and untamed, and her face looked bare. Hermione thought she still looked beautiful, but it was slightly jilting to see her lose her vibrancy.

“Remus is out again?” Sirius frowned. It wasn’t unusual; since the raids had started getting bad, all of them had been out on double shifts.

Dorcas laid back on the grass, and said, “Yeah. They needed a final man- a dueller. He was the first to volunteer.”

Hermione felt something block up her chest, and she looked away. Sirius noticed. He bumped his shoulder into hers and murmured, “He’ll be okay.”

She stared up at him and his eyes gleamed in that way they always did when he was being gentle. Hermione knew that it was no promise, that nobody could ever promise somebody else’s safety… But she also knew that he was the only other person who loved Remus as much as she did, so it had to count for something.

Marlene pulled grass from the ground, staring at the way it threaded through her fingers then tore. She said suddenly, “I want to have a big gravestone. You know, one of those fancy-ass ones with an angel on top? I wanna be remembered. I want people to walk past me and think, ‘Yeah, that person must've been pretty damn important.’”

She faltered, then said, frowning, “I don't want to be just another ghost. I wanna be a golden memory with blooming flowers. I wanna be remembered.”

They all looked at her, not one of them wanting to speak. They didn’t really know what to say.

"No one's going to be around to see it, though," Lily said, eyebrows furrowed in a sort of mild confusion. "What's the point?"

 _"What's the point?"_ Marlene repeated, dragging her eyes to stare at her incredulously. "The point is, I won't just be some nobody with a boring life and boring death. The point is I'll be a _monument_ , I'll be important. I wanna be important, and if I have to wait till I'm dead to be so, then that's fine with me."

"Hey," Dorcas argued softly. "You're important now, Marls. You're important to us."

She half-smiled at their shared glances and nodded. "Thanks guys."

There was silence.

"But that's not enough," Sirius said quietly, staring at her with a knowing intensity. "Is it?"

Marlene just looked at him.

“I don’t want to die,” Dorcas said in a quiet voice, so quiet it barely touched the air. It was the first time any of them had actually voiced it, that insatiable fear that nibbled at the back of their mind every single time they left the headquarters. But they always came back.  

Or rather, they’d always come back so far.

“Not like this,” she continued. “I want to die in a cottage by the sea, with a cat purring by my feet, and a fire roaring in the grate _. At least,_ eighty.” She stretched out languidly and smirked. “Surrounded by my many younger _lovers_.”

Lily smiled softly at her. James laughed for the sake of laughing; they remembered that was the mandatory response to a joke, however ill the joke happened to be.

“I don’t really mind,” Sirius said to nobody in particular, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. Hermione looked at him sharply. “If there is one thing I have learnt... It is that everything dies in the end.”

Lily frowned at him and said, "That's horrible."

He just shrugged. "It's true."

His dark eyes caught James’ and held them. It was difficult to argue about things like this, because whilst it was horrible and unnecessary, it was also horribly and unnecessarily _true_.

The sun was low over the garden, and the streaks of gold were dying, as it sacrificed itself to the oncoming night. The lateness of the hour nagged at Hermione’s mind. Dorcas stared up at the sky too and said, “They’re not back yet.”

Marlene looked at her friend and said, “They’ll be fine. _She’ll_ be fine.”

Dorcas nodded, but they all heard her swallow. Marlene clambered to her feet, pulling her up with her and she led Dorcas back inside, shooting them all a small, half-hearted smile. Goodbyes were unnecessary nowadays, you just got up and left and prayed to God you were going to return.

Lily’s eyes brushed over Hermione and she said, “I think I should be taking you back now too, Mione. Caradoc will kill me if you go AWOL on my watch.”

Hermione huffed. “It’s not AWOL if I’m still on the premises!”

Even so, Sirius helped her to her feet and Lily looped her arm around her and supported her back to her room. In truth, her leg didn’t hurt that much. She just felt heavy.

“You’re not indestructible,” James said as soon as they were alone. He didn’t look at Sirius, just plucked at the weeds.

“I never claimed to be,” Sirius said. He was still standing from helping Hermione up, and he was careful with what he let leave his mouth in James’ presence.

James was still staring at the grass. “I know, but you seem to be under the impression that people can’t hurt you and that’s not right, or clever. It’s stupid.”

"A fire can’t choose to burn you if you burn yourself.” Sirius replied delicately. “I am destroying myself so other people can’t and it’s the worst kind of control but it’s the only form I know.”

James finally looked up at him. They stared at one another for a few moments, before he licked his cracked lips and dragged his eyes away, shaking his head. It was like he was faced with a puzzle he couldn’t quite comprehend, no matter how many times he rotated it or closed his eyes and looked again. But Sirius had always been like that. It’s just James used to think he could solve him. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“I hope you know that if you die, it won’t just hurt you,” James said eventually and every word trembled. “It will hurt everyone you leave behind. It will hurt Hermione and Remus and Pete. It’ll hurt _me_. Because you might not care if you dare, but… Padfoot, if anything happened to you, it would _destroy_ me. You’re my brother. I can’t lose you.” James stared into Sirius, with a soft urging, begging him to understand. He said resolutely, _“I won’t.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because time-jumps can be tricky, if you have any questions or you don't quite understand the continuity etc. please feel free to ask! Or even send me a little PM because I really do love you hear from you guys and talk to you:)   
> I promise I'll treat you nicer than I treat these characters!
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I won't be uploading for a while as I've got a French exchange person over for the next week, so whilst I will try to write the next chapter in snippets whenever I can, I highly doubt I'll have chance to get it up before next monday. Sorry, my lovelies!


	64. Chapter 64- The Good Life

** Chapter 64- The Good Life **

 

Hermione stood at the window, blanket wrapped around her, staring out. The headquarters building was an old terraced house, which someone by the name of Edgar Bones had suggested to Dumbledore. It was in the middle of a miner’s district, where the houses were tightly packed and the gardens were green boxes, sectioned off by overgrown hedges that spiralled into the neighbours' green boxes. It wasn’t the most obvious or secret of headquarters, but it seemed to have done its job so far as Voldemort hadn’t come knocking just yet.

It wasn’t as terrifying as Hermione remembered war being, but she wondered whether it was just because she had grown accustomed to the perpetual heaviness of terror looming in the air. Even so, somebody left the house and her eyes lingered on the way the door closed with a resolute finality behind them, and she internally wondered the probability of them ever coming back.

Lily poked her head around the door and said, “They’re back!”

Hermione wanted to ask ‘All of them?’

Throwing the blanket on the bed, she followed Lily out of the infirmary room and down the stairs, skipping every other step in her haste. They entered the meeting room and found it relatively empty- only the freshly battle-scorned team, Datner and Caradoc were there. Order members came and went, sometimes staying for seconds, sometimes staying for weeks. Lily and James had bought a small cottage with the money his parents had agreed to give them in Godric’s Hollow (Hermione avoided looking at the graveyard every time she paid a visit); Peter and Remus had rented a small apartment nearby together and Dumbledore had a school to run. Only God knew where Sirius slept.

Hermione had taken the liberty of practically living at headquarters with Caradoc. When she wasn’t sleeping, she was planning- in between breaths and blinks, she found snatches of serenity within the monotonous strategy-making. It was good for her to have something so consuming to focus on.

As soon as she set foot in the room, Hermione's eyes landed on Remus. He didn't look particularly beaten up, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his usually soft face looked harder than she remembered. The raid had lasted longer than they expected, resulting in a stakeout and a total of three separate attacks. They appeared to have been successful, however, for Datner was grinning with the twins. She'd know if it was a failure; failure meant death and death meant a harrowing silence that not even Fabian and Gideon had the ability to break.

Hermione headed over to Remus, folding her arms around her. "Are you alright?" She asked once she got close enough.

"Yeah," he replied. "It wasn't too bad."

Remus raised his eyes to her and Hermione held his gaze. There was a straightforward calmness in him that made her believe he wasn't lying. It was just hard to imagine any act of war not being wholly terrible.

She nodded and said, "Good."

"What about you? How's the leg?"

Hermione shrugged half-heartedly. "It's a leg," she replied.

He shot her a look. "A magically poisoned and dying leg, the last time I saw it," Remus said, glancing down at the very much alive limb in question. "But you're up and about, so I suppose it can't be too bad."

"She'd be 'up and about' even if it had dropped off, this one," a voice from behind her said. Sirius appeared by their side, a smile curling his lips. His hair had grown out and was brushing his shoulders, and it looked like he was trying to start growing a beard. He hadn't picked up a brush since they'd left Hogwarts. He looked soft and cuddly and the fond smile he was giving her made Hermione want to hide him away and protect him forever. "You're just a nutter."

Her thoughts of him turned sour and she scowled. "You were onto something then until right at the very end when you just had to ruin it."

Sirius beamed dazzlingly at her. "Darling, you know I speak only the highest about you."

"Good," Hermione said, stealing the cup of tea from his hand and raising it to her lips. She pulled a face when she drank some; Sirius' teas were far too elaborate to make them drinkable. Nevertheless, she kept it. "I'd expect nothing less."

Looking rather miffed at having his tea stolen, he shook his head, suddenly aware of the fact that Remus was no longer standing in front of them.

He looked around, and caught him trying to slip away. "Where are you going?"

"I just need some time," Remus replied. Hermione's eyes cut to him sharply, but he didn't seem too ragged today, just sleep-deprived. Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Have you tried Death's door?" Sirius asked politely. Remus and Hermione both looked at him, then at each other.

"What?"

"Dad said that. You know how he's fascinated with The Three Brothers and Death? Apparently, Death's door is the only place where time doesn't exist."

"That's ridiculous," Remus dismissed.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him and said, "Just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it's not there."

Remus sighed laboriously and said, "For the last time, Padfoot, there is not a mystical dog god in the sky, watching over you, okay? We've been through this."

Sirius inclined his head in annoyance. "Death's Door is the threshold between the dead and the living. If you die, you've already gone through the door. But some people get stuck in limbo, kinda like one foot in, one foot out."

"Why would Death allow that?" Hermione asked. She felt Remus look at her in the corner of her eye, exasperation seeping from him.

Sirius looked surprised at her interest. "What do you mean?"

"Death would never let that happen, would he?" Hermione continued. "In the story, he dislikes being cheated. Why would he give them a way to avoid him? Why would he give them a door?"

"Because it's a children's story?" Remus suggested pleasantly.

They both ignored him. "Because," Sirius said. "Whilst he dislikes it, he does not mind when it is he who is doing the cheating."

He bopped her nose and winked. Hermione smiled. “But what does he gain from letting people get away?”

Sirius stared at her. He pondered in silence for a while, before he said, “You expect Death to take you. It’s unavoidable. It’s what you’ve been told your entire life and life had never given you any way to escape it. So imagine when you die… And you see that door back to the living… Imagine how much you’d want to go back. And how everything you’ve ever been told about the conventions of Death would slip away because of this one last hope. Imagine thinking you could ever get back when really, Death had his hold on you quite firmly.”

Throughout his little speech, his voice had gotten quieter and quieter and he had moved closer towards her. Hermione watched him.

“That’s sick,” she said.

Sirius shrugged. “Since when did you hear Death played by the rules?”

Remus was staring at Sirius cautiously. Their eyes caught one another and the seconds passed in silence. Eventually, Remus tore his away and said, “Right. Well, if story time is over, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

He leaned over to place a kiss on Hermione’s cheek, before he left. Sirius stared at the floor.

"Did you mean what you said yesterday?" Hermione asked, not looking at him.

He frowned. "I said a lot of things yesterday, including a large number of potentially contradictory things so you may have to be more specific, kitten."

She swallowed, and forced herself to elaborate. "About not caring whether you lived or died."

Sirius' lips parted in realisation and he shrugged. He said, "Of course I care. It's just, the way I see it is that everyone is going to die, one way or another. Whether it be now or in the future. So why not make your death mean something? Why not sacrifice yourself to save someone else? Or go out swinging? Why not die for something you believe in?"

Hermione stared at him. There was a fervent and unwavering resilience in his dark eyes and she didn't know what to make of it, because he couldn't see anything wrong with his words. And that was just so terrifyingly _wrong_ in itself. She said, quietly but firmly, "Just because there are things worth dying for, doesn't mean you should die for them."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, and Hermione was glad that he didn't try to argue because she didn't know if she could face it. She'd already seen him die once, she had already grieved him. Now that she knew him better, now that she knew him and breathed through him and loved him with all of her heart, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to do it again.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said suddenly. She looked over at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Sirius began, his grey eyes landing steadily on her, “that you somehow manage to make the dark times a lot less dark.”

Hermione held his gaze. "There's always a light, Sirius. No matter how hard it is to find, or how dim it is."

He chewed at his lip. "It's not hard at the moment," he said. "But it will get harder, won't it?"

His dark eyes were young and he looked at her with a childlike vulnerability that made her falter.

Hermione said truthfully, "Yes. There will come a time when you won't even be able to see yourself, never mind a light. You'll stumble about and you'll fall and everyone will become shadows to you because it's that dark. But you've just got to know that one day, maybe one day soon, maybe not, the world will be beautiful,” she said. “I promise.”

**oOoOoOo**

 

Dorcas appeared in the doorway, her feline eyes scanning the room before landing on someone. She strolled over to Emmeline, cupping her cheeks and placing a long kiss on her lips. Emmeline held the back of her head. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but soft and sweet; it wasn’t a _‘Thank God you’re okay,’_ it was a _‘I knew you’d come home.’_

Once they parted, Dorcas rested her forehead against Emmeline's. She didn't say anything, just breathed in everything Emmeline breathed out. Greetings like this were frequent, that crushing relief that everyone was okay, despite the fact that you never doubted their return, often consumed them, and they grappled for all they could get.

"It was fine," Emmeline said, but she didn't get a reply. She moved her hand round to hold Dorcas' face so she could look her earnestly in the eye. "Honest. I didn't even break a sweat."

Doras laughed slightly then pressed another tender kiss to the corner of her lips. Emmeline smiled.

"When's _your_ next one?" She asked.

"Not for a while," Dorcas said. She soothed down Emmeline's hair, eyes following the motion. "Unless someone needs me."

“What if I need you?” Emmeline said, and Dorcas stopped what she was doing and looked at her.

She smiled. “Then I’ll stay right here.”

**oOoOoOo**

 

Sirius left shortly after to visit James, leaving Hermione at headquarters. She’d walked him to the door, then returned to the drawing room as she didn’t quite fancy being lonely. She was still wearing her nightclothes, and the bandage on her leg felt stiff and sodden- she should probably change it.

Fabian sauntered over to stand beside her. He looked down at her, "You alright there, poppet?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the nickname. She said dubiously, "Has that ever really worked for you?"

He opened his mouth, affronted. "I'll have you know, that word has pulled me more birds than you've had warm meals in your life!"

"Old and wrinkly birds, by the name of Margaret," Gideon supplied, appearing suddenly. Fabian shot him a look.

"Maggie was _not_ wrinkly!" 

As the two engaged in a silent battle on just how wrinkly Maggie was, Hermione's eyes fell on Caradoc. He was listening to Datner, knuckle resting in the curve of his lip. He must have felt somebody looking at him, for he met her gaze. A slight frown appeared between his eyebrows and he looked slightly irritated at her disruption of his concentration.

"He's a weird one, isn't he?" Fabian commented

"What are you talking about?"

"Caradoc. That is who you're staring at?" He drew back, theatrically shocked. "You don't harbour romantic feelings of love for him, do you?"

Hermione reached out and thwacked his arm. Fabian jumped back, expression wounded, clutching the place she'd hit him as though she had hit him hard. "Denial's the first sign, love."

She hit him again.

"What are you three doing?"

So distracted by maiming the ginger before her (as the said ginger was trying to escape her ministrations), not one of them noticed Caradoc coming towards them. They stopped immediately.

"Hermione's admitted her love for-" Gideon began, grinning, but the swift kick Hermione directed at his shin silenced him.

"Nothing," she replied firmly.

"Nothing," Fabian affirmed, smiling.

Caradoc narrowed his eyes at them all, before he wordlessly turned on his heel and left. Hermione watched him.

"Does he hate everyone or am I special?" She asked them, trying to swallow down the unease that threatened to creep into her voice.

Fabian pulled a face. "I mean, _hate_ is a strong word. I _hate_ Voldemort, Gid _hates_ tuna, Hitler _hates_ Jews. Caradoc _deeply dislikes_ everyone. I know it doesn't seem like much of a difference, but trust me, there is. One of them, you'd be willing to commit genocide for."

"I really hate tuna," Gideon said darkly. Hermione rolled her eyes at them, but a smile crept across her face nevertheless.

"He just wants to succeed," Fabian said, as they stared at the place he'd just disappeared from.

Hermione pulled a face. "Shouldn't he love me then? I'm the source of information that knows how to win this war!"

"Yes," Gideon agreed. "But you're the source of information that also popped up out of nowhere with only a name tag and a face."

She dragged her eyes to look at him. Neither one of them seemed fazed but Gideon said gently, "We don't know you, Hermione. You don't have a story or an explanation. Caradoc doesn't like things he can't explain. And you're a walking, talking, lethal epitome of that."

"I'm not lethal," Hermione murmured.

Fabian laughed, disbelief making his voice rich. "You beat Moody! Have you _seen_ that bloke?! He could take on a dragon with his pinky!"

"And not even any dragon! A Hungarian Horntail, at least!" Gideon added.

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. They were still quite dirty, mud was threaded through their normally fiery hair and their pale faces were dark. They were also wearing their fighting gear. "How was the mission?" She asked.

Gideon shrugged. "It was what it was, what it's always been."

Fabian elaborated, "We plan. We leave. We run around. We dodge death. We laugh. We return. We plan for the next one."

"And Molly stresses just as much, if not more!"

"And with good reason. You two would lose your heads if they weren't attached to your shoulders," Hermione said, smiling slyly as she looked up at them.

They both looked offended, but it didn't matter. The twins shared a secretive glance, and she only had a second to regret insulting them, when Fabian leapt forward grabbing her torso as Gideon reached for her legs.

They hoisted her into the air and Hermione laughed and screamed and giggled as they waved her about. They'd just been fighting for two days, just killed people and saved people and nearly been killed themselves, and yet they were now acting as though they were young, with not a care in the world.

They could almost forget there was a war going on.

 

**oOoOoOo**

"What are you still doing up?"

It was the middle of the night when a restless Hermione turned around, and saw Caradoc coming towards her. He was still fully dressed, but his white shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, and he'd undone the top few buttons. He'd also taken his jacket off to reveal brown slacks and braces. He looked ruffled, like he'd just run his hands through his golden hair. Hermione thought it was strange how different he looked when he wasn't working, stressing about the future. She wondered whether this was what she looked like.

She exhaled and returned her gaze to the garden. Over the tangles of the hedge, Hermione could see the skyline; a barely visible slip of society, where stubby chimneys stretched to touch the clouds. There was nothing beautiful about it- the chimneys were all uneven, and the terraces were crammed together, with hardly any room to breathe, but just the uncouthness of the sight made her heart warm.

"I can't sleep," she said.

Caradoc finally came to stand beside her, arms crossed. "Why not?"

She was quiet for a moment before she recited, _"'In my heart, there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep.'"_

His lips stretched into a small smile. "Macbeth. Very good."

Hermione didn't reply straight away, but rubbed her arms, trying to coax the goosebumps that had risen there.

"Why do you hate me?" she murmured bluntly.

Caradoc frowned. "I don't hate you," he said and then added, at her scoff, "Honestly, I don't. I just don't trust the fact that you know all of this information to take Him down. I mean, your head is a goldmine and you can't tell me who put the gold there. Like Moody always says- constant vigilance. How could I trust you straight away?"

“Do you trust me now?” Hermione asked him, meeting his gaze.

He stared unwaveringly back at her and the pause he left let her know that whatever answer she would get would be the undeniable truth. Caradoc swallowed and said, “I don’t really have a choice.”

It was most certainly not the answer she had expected, nor the answer she wanted, but she accepted it either way. They stood in silence for a few seconds.

"I thought I'd be used to it," he said eventually. The silence trembled. "But I guess it's just something you can never really get used to."

"No," Hermione replied, and she sent him a sideways smile. "But it gets bearable." Caradoc levelled his eyes on her and even as the moonlight touched him, he still retained that military strictness. But here, there was something soft and smudged about it. "Eventually, you'll bear it because you learn that it is the only thing you can do."

"That's rather sad," he commented after a while.

Hermione simply shrugged. "Life's rather sad."

Caradoc smiled, shaking his head and moved his hands to wrap around his body. He said, "Not always. Life used to be good."

She looked at him, and her eyes snagged on the crinkles by his eyes and the shine in them, on the unbridled youth he represented in this moment of solace. Hermione smiled. It was truly odd to see him like this. It reminded her he was human, not a war machine, after all.

"Oh really?" She asked, smiling. He raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at her.

"Really."

"When? When was life good, Mr Dearborn?" Hermione asked teasingly.

Caradoc licked his lips and stared up at the chimney-touched clouds. He thought for a moment before he said, "When I was five years old... And my mother came back from the shop and she'd bought me a second-hand broom as an early birthday present. We couldn't afford, really, so it was falling to pieces and barely lifted five metres off the ground, but I loved the thing. I'd go zooming around our garden, pretending there were thousands of people watching and I was the last chance of victory. That was the first time I realised how good life could be."

Hermione's face was mellow, and she replied gently, "I was eleven, and I'd just started school... And, I didn't have any friends. And there were these boys that kept mocking me, although there were others who were a hundred times worse... And one Halloween, they'd said something particularly horrible and I was crying in the bathroom and I was confronted by a troll someone had set loose... Big, ugly thing. Not terribly charismatic. The boys that had been mocking me had also come to check on me when they heard about the troll. Two eleven year old boys knocked out a twelve foot mountain troll for me." She laughed. "That was the start of my first real friendship."

Caradoc stared at her disbelievingly, shaking his head. "Well, I guess there are some things you just can't do without becoming the best of friends!"

"And defeating a mountain troll is one of them," she replied, beaming.

He bowed his head. "It would look like that!"

They both laughed, eyes snagging on the other. Hermione sobered up first. “Maybe fighting a war is another.”

He stared at her.

“I’m going to get some shut-eye,” Caradoc said after a moment. “Lily and James are out tomorrow, looking for the ring. It’s not meant to be high-risk, but someone’s got to make sure it all runs smoothly.”

He started to walk away from her. Hermione turned around, and said, “You don’t have to do this all by yourself. You don’t have to feel the responsibility alone. We’re all fighting for the light. We’re all a team.”

“You know,” Caradoc said, stopping in the doorway and staring at her. “You’re alright, kid.”

Hermione scowled and exclaimed, “You’re _five_ years older than me!”

Caradoc’s laugh echoed through the hallway to her, and he called, “Okay then, sunshine! If it helps you sleep!”


	65. Chapter 65- The Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON, I KNOW! I honestly have no idea how I haven't updated in so long, I mean... I should be given some sort of award for avid and dedicated procrastination because this is some new level surely! I am really REALLY sorry!   
> It's a lot harder now to keep on track and remain motivated since the war timeline kind of jolts everything out of motion. It really disrupts the flow and so I don't find myself having to continue writing, it's just a case of writing when I physically can (I have had the first paragraph of this chapter written for weeks, but I've just NEVER gotten round to completing it until tonight!)  
> It's 11:14pm over here and I've got school tomorrow so this probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done. I was just so desperate to give you an update!! Oops!
> 
> Thank you so much guys for sticking with this. I really can never truly express how much you all mean to me and I can never repay you for the confidence and security you've instilled in me in regards to my writing. I hope life has been treating you well and if not, then I'll think of you and pray that it does from now on! 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and just out of curiosity, who's your favourite character from this fanfic and why? (I'm trying to write my own book so I'm doing a bit of asking around to get a feel for what I should and shouldn't include!)
> 
> Byeeeeeeee! Once again, sorry for being a terrible human bean who does not update for you! I promise I will be better from now on (especially with the 6 weeks holidays just around the corner!!)  
> Goodnight.

** Chapter 65- The Ring **

****

The two people appeared out of nowhere.

Although strange sounding, the actual event was rather simple; one minute, the top of the hill, where the old church sat and watched the small town of Little Hangleton, was empty- the next, it was not.

A slight wind pulled at their abrupt existence, threating to make them disappear just as quickly as they had appeared. The woman, red hair like a sparking flame, wasted no time and led the way down the slope. Her pace was a little faster than a brisk walk and her companion, a tall man wearing less than twenty years along with square glasses, had to jog to keep up with her. He seemed clumsy, like his limbs were longer than his already long body, but there was also a confident boldness to him, like he knew exactly why he was there and what he was doing.

They dismounted the hill within no time, pulling their- _were they_ _capes?_ \- more tightly around their bodies. The sky was a dark grey, brooding and preparing the world for the oncoming night, bright enough for the two people to be visible, but dark enough for them to be nothing more than figures against the light.

They were engulfed by the shadows at the bottom, and they used this cover of darkness to guide them along the base of the hill, away from the town and further down into the valley. The ground was a gentle incline, and the makeshift path they followed led them away from civilisation, until they passed no house nor remnant of a person.

The woman stopped abruptly, causing the man to run into the back of her.

“What are you-?” He began to ask, but she cut him off.

“ _Shh!”_

The path had led them out to a sudden jut in the land, where they could see, more clearly than ever, the bottom of the hill and their destination. Lily Evans’ eyes lit up and she turned to James Potter, who was staring ahead of him. Although excited, there was a terseness to her body and when he levelled his eyes on her, James noticed the tension immediately. He reached out to touch her cheek, fleetingly, before they regained their composure and carried on. This was a mission. Not a holiday.

The path had led them out to a sudden jut in the land, where they could see, more clearly than ever, the bottom of the hill and their destination. Lily Evans’ eyes lit up and she turned to James Potter, who was staring ahead of him. Although excited, there was a terseness to her body and when he levelled his eyes on her, James noticed the tension immediately. He reached out to touch her cheek, fleetingly, before they regained their composure and carried on. This was a mission. Not a holiday.

The house was exactly where Hermione said they'd find it, at the bottom of a winding and largely uncared for path. And it looked like she'd said it would, give or take.

Little bigger than a square shack, it was obvious no one lived, or had even stepped foot inside the place, for a long time. The windows were cracked, barely in place, and there were fragments of glass like breadcrumbs to the front door, which was crumbling on its hinges. Ivy grew up the front, like an army of nature feeding off of the death of society, and the moss moved every now and then, from the wind or what was lurking underneath it, they couldn’t tell.

Lily grimaced, carefully taking her wand out of her pocket and murmured, _"Lumos."_

Night had fallen completely now, as they stepped over the threshold into the Gaunt house. The floorboards creaked underfoot, and the light that shone from the tips of their wands clung to the forgotten objects desperately. James moved lightly, searching the corners of the room. He was hesitant to touch things with his bare hands, and used his wand to flip cushions over and peer under the turmoil that had manifested on the floor. Lily was more careful, creeping further into the house and using her magic to lift things up.

James let out a low whistle, and Lily’s head shot to him. He was leaning over, bent at the waist, and when he stood up, he had something in his hand. He wiggled the knickers at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Looks like we’re not the first young couple come to ‘ _investigate’_ the Gaunt house.”

She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes, and turned back to her search. James waved them again and said jokingly, “What d’you say, Lil? You up for it?”

Lily looked at him in disbelief, but a smile had stolen across her face. She said, “ _Focus_ ,” and flicked her wand to send the knickers flying to the other side of the room, out of her boyfriend’s hands. The knickers were not the only thing that moved.

The air seemed to still, freezing the oxygen in their throats. Both of their eyes landed on the loose floorboard, quivering and shaking, as though it was frantically trying to break free of its restraints. Lily looked at James. James looked at Lily.

They both moved towards it, an unspoken plan formed within those few seconds. They were a mighty team.

_1_

Lily tightened her grip on her wand.

_2_

James aimed, eyes following the violent jerking of the board.

_3_

A streak of light shot from the tip of his wand, blasting the floor open. Lily braced herself, and James raised his chin to see what was underneath, when there was silence. The world stopped.

Nothing happened for the next couple of moments, and there was just enough frozen time for them to share a frigid glance, when the floor burst open, shrieking and screaming. The noise was shrill and deafening, horrific and debilitating. It was like a crushing wave of _darkness_ , which exploded outwards, throwing the pair of them backwards into the wall. Their wands were ripped from their hands.

The atmosphere threatened to choke them, pressing at their throats and lungs until they couldn’t breathe. The hole in the floor was empty, apart from a small, glistening ring. The black stone seemed to reek, oozing something both Lily and James wished it would keep to itself.

Lily closed her eyes, turning her face away, praying that the screech would stop because she felt like her ears would bleed if it didn’t.

And then it did. The silence was equally as harrowing.

The two of them didn’t move, crushed against the wall, feeling their bones heavy and light at the same time; heavy enough to root them to the spot, but light in the sense that it felt as though they weren’t really there. The only sound came in the form of their deep breaths, as they made up for the oxygen their fear had stolen from them.

James’ head rolled on his shoulders and he stifled a groan at the pain shooting through his body. It felt like a sprain, but he had more important things to worry about. His eyes, steady and concerned, found Lily. “Lil… Lily, are you alright? Are you okay?”

Lily’s breath came out as a shaky exhalation. She nodded, looking at him. She opened her mouth to ask him the same question, but the words seemed to evade her. James understood anyway, and offered her a small smile, reassuring that he was alright, he was okay.

Gingerly, they both detached themselves from the wall, finding feeling in their legs. The ground was firm and reliable, and yet they still eyed it with caution, should it find reason to explode again. Lily held her hand out, eyes fixed on the ring. James didn’t even hesitate before he gripped onto her tightly.

They moved closer to it, feeling, with each step, an immeasurable and indescribable wave wash over them. It consumed them, that heavy dread, making their skin crawl and their hearts beat just a little bit quicker. James squeezed her hand.

The ring was not, by any means, beautiful. The gold was cold and cruel and the black stone glinted dangerously. It looked like it should be something wondrous, but Lily simply felt chilled as she looked at it.

“Have you got the box?” James asked, voice a murmur.

Without replying, she reached a hand into her cloak and pulled out a small, black box. Despite its ordinary appearance, the box was anything but and even as she held it out, flat on the palm of her head, she felt the magic of the wards. Lily wasn’t too sure what magic Dumbledore had used, but he, Hermione and Kingsley had spent hours locked up in the drawing room, designing it to withstand the dark power of the horcrux.

Slipping away from James, Lily knelt down by the opening in the floor. The ring watched her innocently. She swallowed, adjusting her grip on the box.

“I need my wand,” she said, stretching a hand out behind her.

James nodded, shoving his glasses further up his nose to secure them, before he retrieved both of their wands, slipping Lily’s between her waiting fingers. Frown creasing her eyebrows, she tried to still the trembling of her hand, levelling her wand on the ring. All she had to do was a simple levitating charm; out of the floor and into the box. It was staggering in its simplicity.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa,”_ she said carefully and clearly, swallowing back her nerves. A sliver of relief shot through her as it unwillingly rose a few inches off the ground, coming closer and closer to where she wanted it but something was wrong.

Lily felt her wand growing more and more uneasy in her grip, causing her hand to jolt suddenly, the ring following its movements. She managed to keep it under her control, enraptured in her magic, until suddenly, it wasn’t-

And then hell broke loose.

Her hand was jerked to the side, and before she could regain it, the ring had shot from her possession. It skidded across the floor.

The two of them watched it with bated breath. Nothing happened. Lily closed her eyes-

It was like an eruption of dark magic, bursting out and groping towards them. The smoke (was it smoke?) was black and thick, forming screaming faces and writhing bodies, wrenching their deepest and darkest nightmares from the caverns of their tortured minds. An avalanche-like wind tore at their bodies, threatening their very frayed existence. Lily squinted through her hair, which was whipped about, clawing at her face. James was by her side in a second, arm encasing her as though it would stop whatever they were facing. They knew it wouldn’t, but she clung to it regardless.

The smoke from the ring billowed towards them, and what looked like a mouth was roaring. There was no sound and yet they both heard it in their bones.

A numbing dread filled them- they had to get the ring in the box.

James squeezed her arm before he slipped away, wand rigid in his hand. The space beside her was cold and startlingly empty and Lily straightened her shoulders, eyes fixed on the coiling tendrils. They seemed to be curling together, snaking within one another and gawping, like they were morphing into something else entirely.

Lily watched as a head was formed from the smoke, round and serpentine. The eyes were slits, the mouth stretched and gawked, groping for a corrigible shape. The end result was horrifying and the breath she had been inhaling caught in her throat, leaking from her lips as a shocked gasp.

Voldemort was a monster, contrived from the shrouds of darkness His soul secreted. She didn’t know where James was; she forgot he was even there. Voldemort swarmed towards her, forked tongue flicking out, relishing in her fear which was pungent on the air. A sick and twisted smirk pierced through her shock, which had rooted her to the spot. His face was everywhere. It was the only thing that existed amongst the darkness.

His voice resonated within her, starting in her blood and pounding outwards. She both heard His words and felt them.

“I will destroy _everything_.”

Lily could feel the heat of His breath against her face, drying a tear she didn’t even realise she had shed. She clenched her eyes shut and opened them again, desperate to recollect herself and scoop up the jumble her nerves were in. He was still there in front of her, mocking her terror, looming as though He was about to abscond her of her life.

“ ** _LILY?”_**

 _His_ voice ripped through the howling, and she shot her head to look in the direction of the noise. James was stood on the other side of the room, a solitary figure of light through the smog. He seemed so close and so far away at the same time and it was odd how both connected and disconnected they were in that moment, like they were the only two people on the planet, stood on opposite sides of the world.

James’ hair was being ravaged, sticking to his forehead and glasses in its attempt to flee the shack. His face was drained of colour but when he caught Lily’s eyes, he grinned at her. The horcrux recognised this spark of hope and growled, wailing louder than before. The wind increased tenfold.

“Lily!”

“What?” She yelled back, tearing her eyes back to him. He was still smiling and it was so absurd. He looked like he had lost his mind but when he looked at her, Lily felt her heart seize.

“Marry me!” James shouted, that damned smile curling his lips. Her eyes widened. Yes. James Potter had gone completely and irrevocably mad.

“ _James_!” Lily exclaimed incredulously, pausing to shove her hair out of her face. The horcrux no longer held her attention. The terribly crazy young man in front of her did.

“ _Lily!”_ He mimicked her tone. Then his face split into a wide grin and he spread his arms. “Marry me, Lily Evans. Marry me and never be afraid of death. Marry me and I swear to every God listening that I will preserve _everything_!”

Lily turned back to Voldemort, the horcrux snarling and growling before her and she smirked at Him. “Get us out of this alive,” she called back. “And I’ll think about it!”

James grinned, mock-saluting before he leapt into action, raising his wand and shouting something that was swallowed by the agonised screech of the soul. It twisted and writhed, morphing into other garish shapes, desperately trying to reach Lily, to rip her in half.

But James Potter would never let that happen.

The horcrux was sucked back into the ring, which then flew and landed in the little black box. The lid snapped shut with a resounding click that echoed around the now silent Gaunt house. They both heaved deeply, making up for all of the breaths that had evaded them.

Lily’s eyes slid onto James, and a relieved smile overtook her face. He walked over and picked up the box, wiggling it with a grin at her. Euphoric, James threw it up in the air, only for it to bounce off and out of his fingers each time he tried to catch it on its descent. Somehow, luckily, he managed to reclaim it again just seconds before it crashed onto the floor. Lily laughed at him, too dazed to care about the consequences had he not caught it.

James moved over to her, smile free and unbridled, barely fitting his sweating face. She watched him, laugh softening on her lips. He stood in front of her, before getting down on one knee, holding the box up. Lily let out a sweet and breathless laugh, biting her lip. Her eyes were teary but she let them fall, and they tasted of honey.

“Lily Evans,” James said, laugh caught in his throat too. “We’re alive... We probably shouldn’t be. And who knows if we will be for much longer? All I know is that I love you. I’m _so_ in love with you… And I wanna marry you. So will you do me the honour? Lily, _marry me?”_

Lily nodded. She nodded and more tears fell, and the smile that painted her face was like all the brightest colours in one. She nodded and the sunbeams she emulated shone from her body, and as she gasped out a _“Yes, James Potter. I will marry you,”_ James leapt up and wrapped his arms around her so tightly, it made her question whether he was ever going to let go. Honestly, she didn’t want him to.

This was home, she thought. The person whose arms you felt safest in. James Potter was Lily Evans’ home.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

The house was barely standing. The little kitchen Hermione was stood in was dilapidated and crumbling away, much like the rest of the house she had had to walk through to get to this point. There was no electricity, so the early morning sun that was rising through the small window above the sink would have to be enough.

It wasn’t ideal to meet them now, what with Lily and James out on a horcrux hunt, but it was the only time they could all do for a while and she’d be damned if she missed it. It didn’t help being actively involved in a war. It was even worse when your friends were fighting for the other side.

Avery appeared seven minutes late, in a sudden moment. His black cloak swished at his ankles, and his white undershirt was half buttoned up and crinkled. There were dark circles under his eyes, which Hermione adamantly pretended she didn’t see.

“You’re late,” she said, standing up and staring at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just on-time.”

He spoke as politely as ever, and if he hadn’t just irritated her with his words, she was sure that the fact he managed to remain so calm and _even_ during a war would antagonise her anyway. Avery swept the cloak from his shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair.

Hermione’s nostrils flared and she said scathingly, “My being on-time, in no way relates nor disqualifies the fact that you were _late_.”

He raised his eyes to her in mild interest. “On who’s time?”

“What?”

“Well, on my time, I’m actually quite early,” Avery explained calmly.

Hermione spluttered, “On _your_ time? It’s a universal measurement, Avery. Your time is _everyone’s_ time!”

“Then actually, when you put it like that, I’m on-time,” he replied. Although his voice was steady, the Slytherin glint in his eyes sparkled as she growled. Despite the war, it seemed that some things never really changed and his ability to get on every one of her nerves in the short space of a few seconds testified to that.

Avery sat down, resting his palm against the cool surface of the table, where a pool of sunlight had begun to form. He watched, twirling his fingers, as the light danced across his skin. “How’re things on your end then?” He asked without looking at her.

Hermione cleared her throat. “They’re doing alright. We plan, we pick up on raids, we leave to fight your little friends and some of us don’t come back. It’s war,” she shrugged and she was surprised at how harsh she sounded. She wished she could be as aloof as she pretended. “What about you?”

Eyes never leaving her face, Avery said, “We pilgrimage, we raid, we fight your little friends and ensure they don’t go back.” She held his gaze and he used her words, “It’s war.”

She was given no time to reply for the second was interrupted by a young man, dark hair and eyes, appearing from nowhere. Regulus Black apparated into the little kitchenette, spinning slightly from the impact of his travels. His eyes swept over the pair of them and he grinned apologetically.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ripping his scarf and overcoat from his body and throwing them on a countertop.

“On the contrary,” Avery replied philosophically. “By Hermione’s reckoning, it appears you’re on-time.”

She shot him a glare. Regulus glanced between the two of them cautiously, before he shook his head, unfazed by their antics. He looked surprisingly well, all things considered, and Hermione’s eyes snagged and lingered on the straight and steady set of his shoulders, and the untouched white of his cheeks.

“Life looks to be treating you well,” she commented. Regulus looked at her, eyes bright as they ran over her form. He had grown quite a bit since they’d all left school, and now towered above her.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” he said cheekily. Hermione let herself smile at his childishness. She forgot what being fresh resembled. His face grew earnest. “How are you?”

She shrugged a shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself and offering him a small smile. “I’m alive. How are you?”

Regulus grinned, leaning forward and said, “I am dandy, thank you for asking.”

He hopped up onto the counter. Hermione and Avery shared a look; she frowned, he simply raised an eyebrow.

“I take it you haven’t left the Manor since the war started,” Avery said bluntly. Hermione’s eyes cut to him, but he either didn’t register or, more likely, ignored the warning flashing there.

“No,” Regulus said. “I haven’t. Or at least, not to fight, which I’m guessing is what you’re insinuating.”

Avery’s head cocked to the side and he lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Well, with quick thinking like that, I’m surprised they haven’t sent you out there on the front line.”

Hermione pulled a face at his sarcasm. “It’s a good thing,” she told Regulus, whose mouth had pulled into a tight line. “We need someone who can observe things literally on the inside.”

“Oh? So what’s my purpose? To stand still and look pretty?” Avery asked dully.

“No,” she said, impatience tinging her voice. “To warn us of physical attacks. Speaking of, what do you know? Any news?”

His eyes flicked to her lazily and he drawled, “You said I wasn’t pretty. Why should I tell you?”

“Because I could destroy you,” Hermione responded lightly but her words were thrown away when Avery scoffed.

“What, and old Voldy couldn’t? You’re terrifying, Granger, but even you’ve got nothing on Him.”

She scowled at him, but there was nothing fazed about his expression. Avery always looked as though him voicing an opinion was about the least he could possibly do for the world without them thinking he cared.

“I dunno, I’m pretty scared of you, ‘Mione,” Regulus spoke up. She sent him a smile, and then directed a smug look at Avery, who just rolled his eyes.

“What did you need your pet for anyway?”

Regulus pulled a face at the nickname, but Hermione couldn’t find the energy to correct him. “I need you to research something for me.”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding for her to continue. She swallowed, licking at her lips which had suddenly gone dry. Avery’s eyes followed the action and he squinted.

“I need you to look into a spell,” she said. “The spell that sent me back here.”

There were a few moments that passed in silence, which allowed the pool on the dining table to grow bigger. Regulus was the one to break it. “Why?”

Hermione said, “No reason.”

Avery narrowed his eyes at her. “It sounds like you’re trying to go home.”

She didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he said. “It’s annoying.”

Anger flared up inside of her, that short-lived anger that she associated with Frederic Avery and Frederic Avery alone, and she asked in a heated voice, “Why do you care?”

Avery regarded her through steady eyes and said loftily, “Curiosity.”

“Killed the cat,” Hermione finished for him.

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

She stared at him, but the lack of emotion in his eyes was worse than any sort of feeling she had thought he would muster up. She broke away, and said quietly, “I just need to know. I just need to know whether it’s possible to go back.”

The sunlight crept a few inches up the wall, exploring the crumbling and outdated kitchenette. It was more daring than the three in the room.

“And if it is,” Regulus said, voicing the only question worth asking. “Would you?”

Hermione stayed quiet. She could feel both of their eyes on her, burning holes into her skin but truth be told, she didn’t know. She had a home here now, people she loved as much as the ones back in her time. As much as she belonged in the present, or the _future_ , or _whatever_ it was- she belonged here too.

And she said, in a murmur that barely dented the sunrise, “I don’t know.”


	66. Chapter 66- The Wedding

** Chapter 66- The Wedding **

**May 1979**

 

The gazebo was exploding with laughter, reaching the low peaks and bursting through the slits in the marquee. Spring lay thick and sweet on the air, blowing free dandelion tufts for the bride and groom. Light trickled in, hoping to catch a glance of the beautiful young couple, who were swaying on the dancefloor, unwilling to break away from one another. Their light shed on everyone present, and their happiness was palpable on the air.

If you were to ask James Potter when he fell in love with Lily Evans, he would not be able to answer you straight away. It wasn’t that he didn’t know- he did. James could recall every small and insignificant detail off of the top of his head about the very first moment he realised it, and the many times after that he fell a little bit deeper.

It was just that there were so many moments beyond that first night, when he laid in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, too scared to sleep because the butterflies in his stomach were fluttering more erratically than the stars he could see through the big window.

It was the time Lily had smiled at him, hesitantly but genuinely, from across the classroom when he had defended her blood status, claiming that it didn’t matter, and what did Mulciber know? She was more a witch than he ever would be a wizard- her grades alone were proof to that! He’d gotten a black eye for it afterwards, and she had taken him to the Hospital Wing and stayed to make sure he was alright.

Although no one had ever been punished for it, Mulciber had turned up to breakfast the next day with swollen skin and a multi-coloured rash that not even Madam Pomfrey could cure. James had his suspicions and he seemed right about them for when he looked at Lily, he saw her innocently cutting up her bacon as though nothing was out of place. The smirk curling her lips was barely visible and the butterflies in his stomach went wild.

Could butterflies do backflips? He imagined them doing backflips.

It was the time he had found her crying by the Black Lake because her sister refused to associate with her and had called her a freak. James had only met Petunia once, during the summer after their seventh year when Lily’s parents hosted a get-together. She had been there with her fiancée, a large elephant-like Muggle by the name of Vernon. They hadn’t been there long when a snide comment was passed and James’ wand slipped, causing Vernon to go head-first into the cheesecake.

_He had stood up and said calmly, “I’m terribly sorry for ruining your desert, Mrs Evans.”_

_“Oh,” Mrs Evans replied, shocked into speechlessness. “I’ve never really liked cheesecake all that much anyway…”_

When they left, Lily was holding onto James’ hand tightly. She had been uncharacteristically quiet and he tried to gauge her reaction as he apologised, but she just stopped and looked at him.

_“You’re bloody brilliant,” she’d told him bluntly. “You know that?”_

James hadn’t known how to reply and so he didn’t say a word, just let Lily continue to drag him down the street and the butterflies started up again.

There were so many moments he could account to his love for Lily Evans, but this one, right here, twirling in her arms after she’d just become Mrs Potter… this one had to top them all.

Their wedding was an irrevocably simple affair; a little white marquee bathed in the spring sunlight at the bottom of the garden at the Potter Manor. All the Order members attended, along with their parents and although there weren’t actually that many people, there was enough happiness to encompass them for eternity.

And just as James had predicted what seemed like a lifetime ago, Peter gave a speech, telling stories of how heroic he was and how James Potter was the best thing to happen to him, and he spoke of that day, so many years ago at Hogwarts. He recalled how foolish they all were to ever doubt Potter’s charm. Many laughed, but the four boys just smiled, because even though they were in the middle of a bloody war, everything was finally falling into place.

Sirius raised his glass for a toast and managed to make no less than forty three deer-related puns before Remus finally put a stop to the abomination. He’d then taken up the spotlight and very modestly and sincerely told them that they were the greatest people he knew, and that they could only continue to be greater together.

It didn’t matter that Remus’ freckles were barely visible because of the bruises and scars that now covered his face, nor the extra weight Peter seemed to have put on from stress (it seemed eating was his way of coping). It didn’t matter that James looked gaunt in his nice robes or that the usual spark in Sirius’ dark eyes was duller than they could remember it being. What mattered was that James Potter, their brother, was marrying the woman he loved.

Hermione stood at the back of the marquee, drink in hand. Her dress was golden and pretty, and she watched her friends with a light heart. Emmeline and Dorcas were wrapped up in each other’s arms on the edge of the dancefloor, their dresses swishing together as they swayed to the music. Emmeline tipped her head to the side, letting it rest against Dorcas’. Their fingers found one another and laced together. Peter and Mary were staring into each other’s eyes, looking like they were tangled in their very own world.

Marlene was standing with the Prewett twins, laughing over a joke Hermione had neither heard nor cared for, but the sight of such unrestrained joy still managed to bring a smile to her face. Even Caradoc looked to be enjoying himself; he was sitting with Moody, who sang and danced along to the song. They both looked tired, but a lot more alive than she had seen them in months.

“Is this the light you were talking about?” Sirius asked her, coming to stand next to her. He was grinning. Hermione’s eyes caught on his face, and she was momentarily thrown off by how _whole_ he appeared. She hadn’t seen him looking like this, like the old Sirius, for… well, for a very long time.

She smiled at him before letting her eyes drift back to the newly married couple, who were tangled in one another in the middle of the crowd. “It’s one of them.”

The Beatles crooned delicately in the background, and their music was sweet, just as sweet as the sunlight and the large lilies which centred every table. A lazy and content smile played at Lily’s lips and she laid her head on James’ shoulder, eyes closed. Her red hair was loose, flowers threaded through small braids which Mary had spent hours perfecting. The white dress she wore was lace, ending just below her knee, simple and yet utterly extraordinary. Just like Lily.

James couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and he was holding her to him as though she might disappear from his arms, as though this was all some mesmerising dream which he would soon wake up from. His eyelashes were still wet and sparkling, from where he had cried as he’d watched her walk down the aisle.

Sirius watched them, lips parted in a soft and breathless awe. He said in a very gentle voice, as though he feared he would shatter everything, “I want to stay here, in this moment, forever. Can I do that?”

Hermione turned to look at him, and when he met her gaze, she gave him a smile and said, “I don’t see why not.”

Remus appeared beside them then. He looked scrawny, like he wasn’t really there, and yet Hermione still thought he looked handsome. She slipped her hand into his and he looked at her, slightly surprised. It wasn’t that they had drifted, it was just that, in between fighting and trying to stay alive, there had been very little time for them to focus on themselves. During a war, you found yourself spending more time hating the enemy and less time loving the people you still had around you.

“We were just saying how we’re going to stay in this moment forever,” Sirius informed him pleasantly.

“Care to join us?” Hermione asked.

He looked between the two of them a few times, then around the little marquee, eyes finding vases bursting full of flowers and fairy-lights hanging from the ceiling. A small ghost of a smile flitted across his lips and Remus said, “Yes. That sounds lovely.”

They waited as the record stuttered, and the next song started playing, soaking them in ephemeral bliss. Sirius said wistfully, “I remember when he was a midget, tripping over his legs because they were too damn long… Now look at him. He’s married, Moony.”

Remus smiled, eyes finding James too. There was an unparalleled love there. “ _He’s all grown up_. You know, I reckon if you’d have told third year us that this would happen, they would’ve-”

“Pissed themselves laughing,” Sirius finished for him, amused.

“Something like that.” Remus continued to watch their friends. He looked to be deep in thought and there was a second of silence before he said, “They’re both such extraordinary people. They deserve all the happiness and more.” He paused. “They’re like suns. And we’re lucky enough to witness their light.”

Sirius tore his eyes from the couple at that point and looked at Remus instead, face precariously blank. He shot him a quick smile when he saw him looking before taking a swig of his drink. Muggle wine. Not nearly strong enough for his taste.

A slower song blossomed into life and Remus tuned to Hermione, holding out his hand and bowing dramatically, “Would you do the honour of giving me this dance?”

Hermione held her drink out for Sirius to take, and raised a hand to her heart. “Why, it would be a privilege!”

She locked her fingers in his, and let him pull her close to him, onto the dancefloor. He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his forehead against hers. Hermione could feel the fan of his breath each time he inhaled, and the way the slight breeze tickled his eyelashes, picking them up and making them twirl. This close, she could see the freckles through his wounds. She could count them.

“I wish I could take this moment and melt it down and pour it over everyone I love when it gets bad again,” Remus said quietly. They couldn’t hear the music anymore, it was just Remus and Hermione. It was all they needed.

She pressed a fleeting kiss to his chin and murmured, “I’ll make you happy.”

“You do,” he told her, and the honestly made his voice break. His thumb stroked the fabric of her dress. Remus’ golden eyes were bight, but that could’ve just been the fairy-lights reflected in them. He swallowed. “You make me so happy, Hermione. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve lived,” she said, taking hold of his face and forcing him to listen carefully to every word she said. “You would have grown up and experienced more loss than anybody should ever have to feel in one lifetime and you would’ve survived it. You would have found a beautiful woman who loved you for your lycanthropy and had a beautiful baby boy with hair the colour of a rainbow. You would’ve lived, Remus. With or without me.”

Remus looked ragged and his eyes closed briefly as he shook his head. “But that’s just it… I don’t want to live without you.”

Hermione smiled at him, cocking her head to the side. She tried to joke, “You managed it the first time.”

He didn’t laugh, just stared at her. “But now I love you,” he said. “How do you expect me to manage it now?”

She didn’t reply, just cupped the back of his head and pulled him gently closer to her, so he could rest his chin on her shoulder. All that she could think of was Regulus, and what she had asked him to do. He still hadn’t found anything out for her in regards of the spell Draco had used to send her back here. It had been months, and the only information he had relayed back had been irrelevant and unnecessary. Part of her felt like just giving up.

She was happy here. There was no point feeling guilty about it when it was the truth- she was incredibly happy here. Hermione had a family and people she loved who loved her back in full. She would die for them and knew they would do the same.

And yet, there was something nagging at the back of her mind, the very same thing which had prompted her to ask Regulus for help in the first place. Lately, whenever she had seen James, all Hermione could think of was Harry. And the twins would appear, their flaming hair and freckles evidence of their heritage and she would be reminded of Ron. It was like, even before her best friends had even been born, she could still not escape them.

And God, Hermione missed them.

She missed the way Harry would ruffle up his hair and flash her that loving grin when she got riled up. She missed the way Ron would moan about everything, from work to early mornings to the fact he hadn’t had time for second dinner and the softness in his bright blue eyes when he looked at her. She missed the way their arms felt like the safest haven in the world and the way their faces would light up when they fell on her.

Although she had friends in this time, Hermione still missed her boys.

“What are you thinking about?” Remus asked her gently, and she noticed he had pulled back and was watching her, curiosity and fondness making his eyes soft.

She shook her head, “Nothing.”

It was clear he didn’t believe her, for his eyes lingered. He said, “We’re going to make it out of this. I promise.”

Hermione frowned slightly before she realised he thought she had been thinking about the war. Indirectly, she supposed she had. It was all connected… somehow. All this time-travel malarkey was threaded and looped together with delicate string which she kept on barrelling into and wreaking havoc with.

That was another thing though. Even if Regulus did figure out what spell had sent her back here, and she found a way to return… What sort of a world would she be returning to? Would her boys be alive? Or would they still be dead and cold?

And, perhaps more importantly, what would happen to the world she was leaving?

Hermione let her head drop onto Remus’ shoulder, encasing her arms around his neck. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him and prayed it would help dispel the goosebumps on her arms. Why couldn’t she stop thinking of war? This was supposed to be a happy time! She was supposed to be happy!

Then why couldn’t she stop thinking of the fact that one day after tomorrow, they could all be returned to dust and ashes? Like they never even existed in the first place.

We all die, Hermione realised. She could feel Remus’ heartbeat through both of their chests, beating through their bones and skin. But the goal isn’t to live forever. It’s to create something that will.

We are all lost moments. Some of us have been lost for a long time, wallowing away in the darkening shadows of decay; others do not even know that they are gone, that they have been gone for an eternity.

In life, we are contrived from our failures and our victories, from our nightmares and our dreams, and we all- whether we exhale in shakes and gasps or in loud, boisterous laughs- are deigned to be lost and never found. Our memories shape us, and then they dissipate in our own minds, leaving us a prisoner of the past but we’re all stories in the end. We’re all moments. We’re all breathing bundles of nerve and heart and tears and blood, and then we fade into nothing. Our worlds scatter, our dreams implode; not even the story books can hold our existence.

We might not last forever, Hermione thought, but we’re creating something that will. And that would have to be good enough.

Remus’s scent was all she could breathe in, heavy and homelike.

It _was_ good enough.


	67. Chapter 67- The Diadem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling Avery is the overall favourite character and ship for Hermione which is extremely amusing to me as I originally intended for him to be Sirius Black's boyfriend... Evidently, I am not still continuing down that route.

** Chapter 67- The Diadem **

**August 1979**

 

The castle had not changed since they had last stepped foot in it.

Hogwarts still had that homely feel and as Hermione led Sirius and Remus through the empty halls, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the frantic beat of her heart. They had decided to retrieve the diadem now, before school started so as to avoid running into any students. Merlin knew what they would find. Even Hermione had no idea what to expect; she remembered her encounter with the diadem the first time round, all flames and dark magic that threatened to singe her life. But the Horcruxes had been unusually tame since they hadn't been given time to fester. Perhaps this one would surprise her too.

Also, it was easier to cross another horcrux off the list before they began to search for the rest of them. They still had no idea where the cup might be located.

Sirius was whistling cheerfully, dancing around and peering into empty classrooms as though he had not a worry in the world. She could see him reliving his youth, playing up to the fantasy that he was still a young boy, absconded from all guilt and responsibility. She let him have it. Hermione shared an amused glance with Remus, who raised his eyebrows, smiling. He, too, walked with an easy-going gait despite the significance of their task today. She realised this would be the first time they had come face-to-face with a horcrux.

“Quite ironic really,” Sirius said thoughtfully as they turned another corner. “Never would have put old Voldy down as sentimental.”

Remus’ eyebrow quirked and he said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s got the whole world laid out at his feet and yet he picked a priceless antique which he concealed at his school,” Sirius explained, clearly unimpressed with this line of thinking. “I thought He was supposed to be intelligent.”

Hermione shot him an incredulous look. “He _is_ intelligent. Irritatingly so.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Sirius agreed. “I just- If I was going for the whole nihilistic world-domination approach, I’d have picked something… a bit more generic, you know?”

“Like a grain of sand,” Remus said, nodding along.

Sirius pointed at him and exclaimed, “Exactly! Or a rock and then chucked it into the middle of the ocean! See, this man should not have gotten so far! It is a crime that we have not defeated Him yet!”

Hermione allowed herself to laugh, despite the fact that their lack of a victory was not amusing. The more the war stretched on, the more she doubted she was doing anything to change its outcome.

They finally stepped onto the seventh floor corridor. The brick was golden due to the sunlight sifting in through the high windows, and Hermione felt it lazily caress her skin. It was so strange for her sometimes to compare this war to the last one. This one was so much more comfortable; Death was not chasing them down, and they didn't have to operate in secret. Sure, there was still fear, but the Wizarding World was largely intact. The same could not be said for the war she had left in the future. Fear was rooted so deeply in that time that it wouldn't surprise her if the time beyond that was poisoned, shrouding the decade of light before.

They stopped outside the part of the wall where they knew the Room of Requirement to be, and the air seemed to still. Sirius stopped humming abruptly.

"How do we know what to ask for?" Remus asked.

She didn't reply, merely started pacing, enunciating her thoughts loudly and clearly in her mind:

_'I need to hide something. I need to hide something that will never be found.’_

Hermione kept her eyes on the bricks, but they didn't budge one bit. She frowned and repeated the plea. The Room had always been temperamental, but she found that it was easier to approach it from the side, instead of being blunt.

This tactic seemed to be failing her however.

Behind her, she heard Sirius murmur, "Why isn't it working?"

Brain working quickly, she tried to think of another way in which the Room would give her what she needed, but no new idea arose. Hermione felt her heartbeat start to quicken as worry set in. It wasn't working. What if they were too late? What if Voldemort had realised they were hunting down His horcruxes and sealed the Room off? Or worse, taken it back?

She paced, trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart, thinking desperately, _‘I need to find it. I need to find a piece of his soul. I need to find and destroy a horcrux hidden within your walls. **Please**.'_

The door formed before she had even finished thinking it. Sirius let out a whoop and Hermione felt herself sigh in relief. They didn’t waste any time, and Sirius bounded past her, rolling his sleeves up. Remus walked into the Room too, fleetingly brushing her knuckles with his hand and shooting her a smile as he passed. Hermione swallowed, and breathed in deeply, before she followed them.

Immediately, she felt transported to somewhere outside of Hogwarts and as her eyes scanned the room, her mouth dropped open. It was definitely the right place, and the ceiling stretched impossibly high, accommodating for the towers of the broken, beautiful and lost. Cracked, ornate mirrors stood in corners, with gold jewellery hanging from their curves. Old books and chairs formed skyscrapers, towering in a way that made Hermione worry they would topple over and consume them in the wreckage.

“Woah,” Sirius breathed. His dark eyes slowly stretched upwards.

A small smile curled Remus’ lips and he said, “So this is where people go when they want to forget.”

“Or grow up,” Hermione suggested and he looked at her, smile softening.

“Or hide pieces of their soul,” Sirius added offhandedly. Remus scoffed. Hermione thwacked him.

He let out an indignant noise, raising his hands to defend himself and said, "Alright! Alright! I get the idea! I ruined the moment! Now stop attacking me and search for this bloody crown!"

The 'bloody crown' in question turned out to be a lot more difficult to find than what they all anticipated. Hermione could not remember whereabouts exactly they had stumbled across it the last time round, and so, they rooted and rummaged through various knickknacks and thingamabobs, eyes snagging on anything that glinted in the light.

About an hour and a half later, their searches were increasingly becoming more and more lax and frustrated. Remus had disappeared into one of the towers, and Sirius was flicking away some copper pots which had claimed the top of his pile.

“Are you still in touch with my brother?” Sirius asked suddenly, voice only beaten in volume by the clang of metal as another pot joined the ones discarded on the floor. Hermione paused in her rifling, and looked at him, but he was adamantly refusing to meet her gaze, eyes fixed instead on the pile of glistening objects in front of him.

“Yes,” she said. His hands stilled for a moment. “He’s very well. He doesn’t look like he’s seen any of the war yet.” Hermione pretended she didn’t notice the way his entire body sagged with relief. She added in a gentler voice, “I can take you to him if you want?”

Sirius paused. She could almost hear his mind whirring, and the way his heartbeat skipped a little. Eventually, he raised his head and looked at her, a small hint of a smile ghosted across his face and he nodded. Hermione smiled back at him.

"This is ridiculous,” they heard Remus exclaim furiously, and he appeared a second later from behind one of the chair monuments. He raised his wand and said, “ _Accio Diadem!”_  

Nothing happened. The objects didn’t even quiver. Hermione looked at him and said, “That won’t work.”

“I didn’t expect it to,” he muttered.

Sirius lifted his head up suddenly, grinning from ear to ear. It appeared he had reached the bottom of his pile of pots and had been rummaging instead through a delicate assortment of oddities with retractable arms and glass lenses. His eyes flicked between the pair of them and he said, “Hey guys. Honest opinions: Does this add or subtract from my badassery?”

Hermione and Remus tore their eyes away from each other to him, and Hermione’s jaw slackened. The gold glinted coldly in the light, and the jewels embedded into its skin were pretty and powerful. The tiara was dainty until it sloped upwards, forming the wings of a bird. Perching on top of Sirius’ head was the diadem.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words got stopped in her throat. She could hear Remus and Sirius joking lightly, but it felt like there was a glass wall between her and them as their voices were muffled. It wasn’t possible. She was sure she was going insane-

_“Kairos.”_

It was speaking to her.

The whisper, if you could even call it that, was barely audible and the silence heightened around it. Hermione stood, rooted to the spot, listening as the horcrux called out to her. The beat of her heart was restless and painful in her chest, but she couldn’t move. She was incapacitated by it.

_“I see you. I feel you. I know what you are. Kairos. I will get you and I will destroy you-”_

_“_ TAKE IT OFF!” Hermione screamed. The whispering stopped, the glass wall shattered and the pounding of her heart was the only thing she could hear as Sirius and Remus spun around to stare at her. Their alarm was palpable in the air. “Take it off!”

Sirius did so, whipping the crown from his head. He didn’t speak, too shocked at her reaction.

“Hermione?” Remus questioned. “Hermione, what’s wrong? What is it?”

She didn’t reply, but rushed over to Sirius and yanked the diadem from his grasp, where she flung it across the room. It clattered on the floor, skidding a few extra metres. The three of them watched it.

And then, it exploded.

The entire room was engulfed in a thick and obdurate darkness, sparks flying and growing into airborne fires. The ceiling shook violently, causing dust to rain down on them and the towers of objects tumbled to the floor, threatening to swallow them whole. Hermione felt Remus pull at her arm, tugging her away but her legs wouldn’t work no matter how much she willed them to.

“Hermione!” He shouted.

“Hermione!” Sirius yelled. “ _Run!”_

And run they did. They barrelled down the narrow and winding pathways, jumping out of the way of the falling debris. Hermione was holding so tightly onto Remus’ hand and he dragged her faster than she thought possible. Her chest was hurting, feeling like it would shatter from the pain there, but she could see Sirius stop ahead of them and forced herself to continue going. They were nearly there! They were so close! They-

_“Kairos. I am going to swallow you. I am going to savour you.”_

Those words stopped her in her tracks. Remus’ hand slipped from hers, and he turned around when he realised he no longer had hold of her. He was sweating and the dust had clung to his face and hair. Desperation tore at him and he yelled something at her, begging her to move.

Hermione looked at the horcrux. The darkness was groping closer, the clouds swirling together to form His face, smirking at her, but there was something less formidable about it, now it had an identity. She stared at it, waiting as it got closer before she shook her head and whispered, “ _No you’re not.”_

And she opened the box. The darkness tore at the room like a hurricane, frantically searching for some way it could cling to its freedom, but the magic Dumbledore had placed on this prison was far too strong, and it was sucked into the black box. The diadem came skirting towards her, flying to land in it as well. The top clicked shut on its own accord, trapping the soul inside.

The quietness was uncanny and they stared at the place where the horcrux had just disappeared. Hermione felt odd, and Remus rushed towards her. His hands cupped her face, eyes scanning every inch of it before he looked at her incredulously.

“What were you thinking?” He demanded, but his voice broke and he pulled her to him. “Gods, Hermione.”

She stood there, numb. The words echoed through her. She hadn’t heard them in such a long time and yet she felt the same as she had when the boggart had told her them last year. Hermione remembered what it had represented; her resolute fear that the future was something she wouldn’t end up saving, something that would, ultimately, destroy _her_.

And then a thought arose, and it felt like cold water trickling down her body. How had Voldemort known those words? Why did His soul use them against her?

What did he want from her?

She lifted her arms up to wrap around Remus, twisting in his embrace so that she could hold him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and when Hermione opened her eyes, she saw Sirius. He was just staring at them, but it didn’t look as though he was really seeing them. His cheek was bleeding and his lip had bust- something must have fallen on him. It struck her then how much she had in this timeline. And how much she had to lose.

 

**oOoOoOo**

Headquarters was strangely quiet. It seemed everyone had taken today’s mission as a milestone in their mission to take down Voldemort, and had felt safe enough to go home and either celebrate or catch up on sleep. Lily had invited Hermione round to their house, but she’d declined, stating that she should probably rest up. She just wanted to be alone for a little bit.

“You did well today, sunshine,” Caradoc said, passing her in the hall on his way out. He offered her a smile. “Well done.”

He continued walking away from her, and she called to him, “I don’t know where the other two are.”

Caradoc stopped. He turned around and said, “We’ll find them.”

“What if we don’t?”

“Why do you sound so hopeless?” He asked her carefully after a while, in the low and quiet voice she was used to him using.

Hermione tried to smile at him and she shook her head. “I’m not.”

It was obvious Caradoc didn’t believe her for he said, frowning, “Then what’s bothering you?”

“We have three horcruxes out of five. And we don’t know where the other two are. They could be… _anywhere_. Even if- _when_ , we find them, we’ve got to then kill Voldemort.” She didn’t want to imagine it. “Think about how many people we could lose.”

“We’re doing fine,” he told her firmly. “We’re not going to lose this. It’s only been a year and we’re pretty much intact.”

Hermione sighed, flitting her eyes away from him because there was that regimental eagerness in his voice and face. She knew that the odds were good, better than they had been in her time, and yet, she also knew, from that nagging feeling inside of her, that the real war hadn’t even started yet.

Caradoc recognised her silence and echoed her own words to her, “There’ll be a world to look back on this, Hermione. There has to be.” He offered her another smile, before he continued walking, pausing only to let someone past. “Oh, hey Lupin.”

Hermione perked up. Remus stood where Caradoc had just been standing, looking clean and smart. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, and the ends of his golden hair were still wet. “How are you feeling?”

She wanted to reply to him, to tell him that she was fine and everything would be fine but she couldn’t. She looked at him and he smiled at her.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he suggested, moving closer and holding out his hand. Hermione had never been more grateful for Remus Lupin than she was in that second.

He led her up the stairs and into her room, pulling back the covers and climbing in after her. His arms were warm around her and she snuggled into him, acutely aware of the way his breath tickled the top of her head.

“It was speaking to you, wasn’t it?” Remus asked, his voice a low vibration. “The horcrux.”

Hermione nodded but she patted his chest and said, “Don’t talk about the war.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

She thought about it for a moment before she said, “Yourself.”

“Myself?” He repeated, amused. His fingers played with her hair.

“Yeah. Tell me something.”

Remus chuckled and she felt it in his throat and chest. “You probably know more about me than I do, time traveller. Shouldn’t you be the one telling me?” But he paused for thought, and said, “Anything?”

“Anything.”

He suddenly went subdued and his eyes left hers to watch his fingers twirl her curls. Remus said in a quiet voice, “I’m still a virgin.”

Hermione shot upright and questioned loudly, “ _What?”_

Remus’ cheeks went pink and he tried to avoid her gaze. “What? Aren’t you?”

She realised now that her disbelief might’ve offended him, but she still retained the shock that Remus Lupin had never slept with anyone. Honestly, Hermione didn’t know why it surprised her so much. She’d just assumed he had girlfriends at Hogwarts.

“Yes,” she said, laying back down. “I’m just surprised because you’re beautiful.”

His face grew darker and he tried to say something in reply, but his words were muddled. Hermione laughed slightly, stretching up to kiss his lips to cut him off.

“I was terrified about this war,” Remus muttered. “I didn’t want to die a virgin.”

And she laughed again, but this time Remus leaned down and captured her lips. His hands held her face and she kissed him back, relishing in how warm he felt. Everything was comfortable and soft and lovely.

It hadn’t been like this in a long time.

**oOoOoOo**

They woke up the next morning as a tangle of limbs and curls, drunk on kisses and enraptured with one another. Hermine shuffled, eyes opening blearily. She craned her neck back to see Remus waking up too, and her lips curled.

He looked muzzy, his hair golden in the sunlight, sticking up in all different directions. His smile was lopsided as he looked down at her and he said quietly, “If every morning started off like this, maybe I’d actually be able to sleep at night.”

Hermione smiled back at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. When she pulled away, she whispered, “At least now, you won’t have to die a virgin.”

He laughed, and the sound was high-pitched and genuine and Hermione wanted to turn it into light and live in it forever.

**oOoOoOo**

"This is a nice place," Avery drawled, picking up an expensive looking ornament and raising his eyebrows in approval. Hermione checked her watch, then dragged her eyes to him.

"The lady is on holiday, so you need to leave it _exactly_ as you found it," she stressed pointedly. Avery didn't break eye contact as he put it back on the fireplace, making sure to exaggerate the moment his hands left the clay.

The house Hermione had chosen was an undeniable upgrade from the little falling-down kitchenette they had last met in. The woman was a wealthy Muggle who was out of town for the month. Avery was right to comment on the house's grandeur; the walls were a deep red, with high ceilings and velvet settees.

It wasn't often that they met up nowadays, too busy playing the part of a soldier but Avery had requested that they meet somewhere a little more sustainable, just in case one of them needed a getaway. Hermione had paused at his calm suggestion, realising it had never even crossed her mind. She hadn't dared to think what she would do if something didn't go to plan; flitting from one empty Muggle house to the next was not the most reliable form of guaranteeing safe places. She just hoped they wouldn't need a safe place any time soon.

"How's Severus?" Hermione asked gently.

Avery's eyes cut to her. "Snape?"

She looked at him dubiously. "No, the other Severus we know. Yes, Snape."

His frown turned into a sneer and he replied, "I don't see him often. Although when I do, he seems to be thriving. He suits black."

"Everyone suits black," Hermione dismissed, checking her watch again. She didn't notice the way Avery continued to stare at her.

"Not everyone," he said.

She chose to ignore him, biting at her lower lip as another minute passed them by. Therefore, the abrupt appearance of one Regulus Black did not appease her initially, rather terrified her so much she almost fell off the chair arm she was perched on.

Regulus didn't really seem too concerned with his tardiness, as he looked around the room. His eyebrows rose and he let out a low whistle. "This is fancy."

"Don't waste your time," Avery told him, picking up another ornament and examining the underneath. "Hermione doesn't know how to appreciate the finer things in life."

"If you're referring to the time I ripped your expensive cloak that daddy bought you to save your life, I'm going to use the silk to suffocate you," she said matter-of-factly. Regulus grinned at them.

"You know, I think the world is changing," he said, glancing between them, "and then I meet with you two and your familiar bickering puts that worry to bed almost instantly."

Hermione frowned. Avery scowled, putting the ornament back in its former place. The noise attracted her attention and she looked over at him. She mimed twisting and he sighed, rotating the figure to stare outwards so it was once more in the correct position.

Regulus' grin seeped into his voice. "The day you two stop arguing is the day the Dark Lord will win this bloody thing!"

Although she knew it was a joke, Hermione tried not to let her discomfort show at his words. She cleared her throat and said, "Why did you want to meet? Have you found something?"

Truthfully, the only reason this meeting was taking place was because Hermione had felt her wand grow hot. Similar to the spell she used on the DA galleons in her fifth year, whenever somebody needed to get in touch, their wands would heat up and they would all apparate to the designated place. It was the safest way for them to meet in private.

Regulus’ face lit up and the grin he wore was big and excited. “Oh, I’ve only gone and found the spell that sent you back here,” he replied casually but he was bursting with pride.

Hermione’s face slackened. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and said, “You’re sure this is it?”

“Do you doubt me?” Regulus asked, wounded. She shot him a look and he said, “Yes. It’s the only spell in contention.”

He handed her a piece of paper, with two words written across it in a small, neat hand:

_‘Perdere Aevum’_

Hermione’s eyes read the incantation once, twice, over and over until she had it burned into her mind. Curious, Avery peered over her shoulder, frown marring his face as he murmured, “ _To destroy time.”_

It made so much sense. When Draco had sent her back in time, he’d fractured everything. He had _destroyed_ time to send her back here. That’s why everything was so jolted. Did this mean what she thought it meant- could she actually have a chance at changing everything if there was no time there to stop her?

She looked up. Regulus was still grinning, looking proud of himself. Avery was watching her calmly.

“Congratulations,” he said in his flat and steady voice. “You can go home.”

Hermione stared at him, faltering, because she wasn’t sure if she knew where that was anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've had this up sooner but I just completed my bronze Duke of Edinburgh!!!! Oh my goddd!! It was the best and worst experience of my life and I am now in absolute agony but hey, at least that means I can stay in bed all day and write more chapters for you guys!  
> As always, what are your thoughts on this chapter, how are you finding the progression of the fic? Just your lovely opinions in general:) Thank you for your support- your reviews are so crazy to me. It's hard to believe anyone but me can like my writing haha so thank you very much for giving me and this story a chance!


	68. Chapter 68- The Discovery

** Chapter 68- The Discovery **

**September 1979**

 

Life had been surprisingly quiet.

No more attacks had happened and the missions became more and more infrequent. There was no news about the Death Eaters and Voldemort seemed to have disappeared off the radar completely. Many of them were relishing in this serenity, but Hermione knew that it was simply the calm before the storm. He was biding his time for something. What, she had no idea, and she wouldn’t like to be present for when they found out. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to enjoy this holiday. They didn’t know when they would all get another one.

The Marauders were all sat together in the living room at Headquarters. It wasn’t an impressive place, but small and as cosy as they could make it. Although she wouldn’t admit it to them (she knew they would tease her), Hermione was excited to spend time with the four of them, as though they were still at Hogwarts.

She’d just been out buying basic supplies, and could hear them as soon as she entered Headquarters. Peter’s loud and unrestrained laugh echoed through the door, down the hallway, towards her and she felt the smile pulling at her lips. She dropped the shopping off at the kitchen before she made her way towards her boys.

Hermione opened the door, slipping into the room.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

She jumped, yell wrenched from her throat in sync with her wand, which zoomed into Sirius’ hand. The room was silent, then Peter started laughing again, at the irritated expression on Hermione’s face.

“Paranoid much, Pads?” James asked, amused.

"I'm paranoid but prepared," Sirius said, smirking as he handed her wand back to her.

"You're forgetting psychotic," Hermione pointed out, still alarmed by his reaction. She entered the room regardless, snatching her wand back and shooting James a smile when he snorted.

"The 4 P's everyone needs," Peter commented refreshingly and he looked surprisingly pleased about this declaration, even more so when he realised it rhymed.

Hermione and James shared a look.

"Erm, mate," Sirius began, "there were only three P's..."

"Paranoia, preparedness, psychosis and Peter!"

They all stared at him, seemingly speechless at the pride that coloured his cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. Sirius blinked. “You just inserted yourself into my mantra.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with this information and returned his attention to the little figure he had conjured up to fight Peter’s. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but there was a soft and gooey feeling inside of her instead. They were just little boy’s in men’s bodies.

“Where’s Lily?” She asked, sitting on the floor at James’ feet. The fire was warm and comforting on her back.

He replied, “She’s gone to see her parents. I offered to go with her, but she was thinking of staying there for a bit. She hasn’t seen them in a while because of… well, everything going on, I guess.”

“That’s sweet. How’s married life treating you?” Hermione teased.

James slumped his head onto his hand and said, “Merlin, it’s the best. I’ve dreamt about this day since I was sixteen-!”

“Thirteen,” Sirius interrupted, not looking at him. His focus was purely on the battle in front of him.

“Twelve,” Peter corrected.

“Twelve?” Sirius repeated, tearing his attention away for a second. His eyebrows were raised and there was pure shock in his voice. “Really? That young?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow…” He let out a low whistle, glancing at James. “You were a sucker from a young age, Prongs.”

James laughed sarcastically before he stuck up his middle finger. This caused Sirius and Peter to laugh even harder. “You know what, fuck you. Wait until you meet a really nice girl. Then you’ll understand. Once you’re head over heels, you can call me a sucker all you like!”

“Or a nice bloke. And I look forward to the day,” Sirius said, attention shifting back onto his contrived dragon, which was being slowly but surely defeated by Peter’s knight. “Ah, shit, Pete. Every time!”

Peter’s smile was smug and overtly pleased. It was at that point that Remus entered, and Hermione looked up, beaming at him. There was something wrong however, and she noticed it a tad too late. The bags under his eyes were heavy and grey, the rims were pink, as though he had been crying. His chest was heaving unevenly, tripping over each breath.

“What is this?” Remus asked in a low voice. Hermione’s smile faded and her eyes dropped to the Peter Pan book in his hands.

She got to her feet quickly and held her hand out, saying, “It’s my book. Please can I have it?”

But he didn’t give it her.

“I left my jacket in your room the other day,” he said, speaking quickly and quietly. “I went up to get it and I saw this. I loved this book as a child- my mother used to read it to me all the time. I picked it up and something dropped out.”

Hermione felt the dread poison her as her suspicions were confirmed. She opened her mouth to clarify but the explanation just came out as broken stutters that refused to cooperate with the rest of her frantic body.

“Were you just going to… leave?” Remus struggled to get the words out. He looked ragged and muted, like he was trying hard not to show how upset he was. “Were you even going to say goodbye?”

“Moony, what are you talking about?” James asked, perturbed. Hermione desperately wished he wouldn’t tell them.

But Remus, pained and wet eyes stuck on Hermione, lifted his hand up to reveal a piece of paper. The two words that had originally been scribed there in that small and neat handwriting had been joined by a new cursive sentence above:

 _“’Spell to get home,’_ ” Peter read aloud, as he was closest. He squinted. _“’Perdere Aevum.”_

“What’s that?” Sirius asked, seemingly dubious to what was going on. Hermione felt the tears fall down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. James was sitting quietly. “Hermione, what’s he- are you alright?”

Remus’ face kept contorting as he tried to stifle his sobs. He said brokenly, “She’s going to go back. She’s going to go back to the future.”

The silence in the room was dreadful. Hermione did not think her heart could hurt more than this and her head pounded.

Sirius was staring at her, open-mouthed. “What?”

“Mione,” Peter said, eyes wide and terribly confused. “I- I don’t get it. I don’t…”

“I was going to tell you,” she said, looking at each of them. James had stood up and Sirius was still looking at her like he couldn’t quite understand. “It was just a bit of research. I just needed to know if it was possible-”

“Were you planning on going?” Sirius questioned, eyebrows pulled into a deep frown.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then stopped short. She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Would you have even said goodbye to us?”

She looked at him with wide, tearful eyes. “Of course! I don’t even know if it works but I would say goodbye. How could I leave without saying goodbye?”

She moved towards him, reaching for him but Sirius flinched away from her, shaking his head and said, “Why- why would you even consider it? I mean, are we not enough? I-”

Hermione stressed, voice catching, _“It’s my home!”_

“I thought this was your home?” Remus demanded incredulously. He looked to be shaking. “I thought _we_ were your home, Hermione!”

She opened her mouth to retaliate but closed it, and swallowed. The tears in her eyes were hot and she said, without looking at any of them, “You don’t understand-”

“Oh really?” Remus questioned. “Then tell me! _Help me to!”_

“Calm down, mate,” James said quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken and he was standing off to the side, arms folded across his chest. A knuckle traced his lips and he watched the pair of them, without really looking. Hermione wished he would look at her.

“Imagine if it was you. Imagine if you had been ripped from this time and propelled back to somewhere you didn’t know, to a completely different and unfamiliar world. Imagine if you’d been ripped away from _here_ , from James and Peter and Sirius,” Hermione said, trying to keep herself under control. Remus stared at her. “Would you stay there? Or would you want to come back?”

“That’s not fair,” he told her. "They're my family. They're all I have."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, painfully. _Harry and Ron were all I had._ She didn’t want to argue with him. Eventually, she said in a broken voice, “Harry and Ron need me.”

 **“I NEED YOU!”** Remus yelled at her, scars pulsing in his skin, heartbreak tearing into him. The room lapsed into a silence that was painful and with each second, they all seemed to break a little bit more. Finally, he seemed to realise that she wasn’t going to say anything, and his eyes lowered. He inhaled shakily before he turned and left; the book and paper dropped on the floor where he had been standing.

Hermione turned to Sirius, who was staring at his feet. His face was like stone, cold and stoic.

"Sirius," she began, stepping towards him, but he didn't look at her.

He held up his hand, gesturing behind him, and said, "I should go see if Remus is alright."

And then he left too.

From behind her, James sighed. Hermione’s mind was agonising, and she needed to go talk to Remus, needed to tell him the truth and explain everything. James walked across the room.

“Remus-” she began, starting forward but James stopped her.

“Needs to calm down,” he finished. His hazel eyes were steady but Hermione could see the pain there. He continued walking.

“I love him,” she called, voice crumbling. James stilled in the doorway. “I love all of you.”

There was a moment where nobody said anything, and then James said quietly, “I know.”

It was only her and Peter in the room then, and part of her didn’t want to talk to him because she was scared he would leave her too and she needed him. She needed all of them.

"What would you do?" Hermione asked him, forcing her eyes to meet his.

Peter swallowed, looking very sad very suddenly, and he said, in that wise voice of his, "I think you should do what your heart is telling you."

“But I don’t know what that is,” she said, crying. Peter moved towards her, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He patted her back in silence, letting her sob onto his shoulder.

“They love you. We all do,” Pete said. “And they’ll love you even if you go back. That’s the thing about love; if you love someone, really love them, you don’t just stop. You can’t. You love them even though it hurts to, even though it tears you apart because you know, although it doesn’t feel like it, that it’s actually the only thing keeping you together.”

**oOoOoOo**

“Of course they don’t want you to go,” Avery said, once she’d finished telling them everything that had happened. He was sprawled over one of the armchairs in the rich Muggle lady’s house, looking like a King atop his plush velvet throne. He drawled, “They’d be lost without you. Imagine it- they would run in circles all day long and never do anything productive. Voldemort would eat them up and still have room for a Muggle village or two.”

The lofty and unfeeling way he said this made Hermione scowl at him. Regulus was staring into the fire, scrutinising the flames that lived there. “I don’t think Sirius has much say in leaving someone.”

“Your brother has always struck me as the hypocritical type,” Avery agreed, inspecting the ring on his finger. Hermione glared at him this time, but he ignored her.

She turned to Regulus and said softly, “He asked me about you. He wants to see you, you know.”

The younger Black froze, and the light of the fire danced across his pulse. His jaw tightened.

“I was going to bring him today but… well, I doubt he’d want to go anywhere with me after what happened,” Hermione said in a quiet voice.

“I was thinking about this time business,” Avery spoke up suddenly, disinterested in the topic of Sirius Black and therefore, changing the subject because he could. “Does this mean you can save everything?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, unsure about whether he was being serious or mocking her again. “Possibly.”

He hummed in interest, reaching for a bottle of wine in the glass cabinet next to him and popping it open. She let out an indignant noise and said, “ _Not our house!”_

His eyes levelled on her. “Well I’m sure the old dear is positively beaming to know she’s being such a good hostess.”

Avery took a mouthful of the bottle. Hermione gritted her teeth.

“Follow-up question,” he said, holding a finger up. She raised her eyebrows at him, telling him to go on despite her frustration with him. “If Lucius’ spawn destroyed time for you to come back here, doesn’t that mean there’s no time for you to go back to? As well as no timeline for you to change.”

Hermione stared at him. She could feel Regulus’ eyes on her as well, intrigued and curious. It was hard to get your head around, all this time business, and it irked her to no end because she had absolutely no idea. She hated not knowing things, and time seemed to mock her with its ambiguity.

“My turn. Is there any news on your side?” Hermione asked, changing the topic as he had done just minutes ago. Her voice was nonchalant, already knowing the answer. It was like pondering on rain in a drought.

His eyes were steady and he said, “No,” and simply took another swig of wine.

“My turn again,” Avery said, bringing the bottle away from his lips. “Are you upset that there’s no home for you to go back to?”

Hermione thought about it, and she saw Regulus watching her with wide eyes. She could’ve laughed at her situation; sitting in a rich Muggle’s house that they’d broken into with two Death Eaters. She reached across and took the bottle from Avery’s hands, prompting a raised eyebrow. She said, “ _No_ ,” and drank.

 

**oOoOoOo**

When she returned to Headquarters that evening, the house was quiet. The living room was empty, devoid of the life it had housed earlier, and her eyes snagged on the Peter Pan book perched on the table. Someone had picked it up.

It was almost like a completely different house to the one she had returned to earlier that day, for no laughter greeted her and there were no surprise attacks from Sirius to scare her. There was nothing and nobody.

Hermione shrugged her jacket off and her body felt heavier without it. She was just hanging it on the curved stand when she heard a noise. A frown pulled at her face. Carefully, glancing behind her, she edged further into the house, hand hovering over her pocket where she could feel the reassuring presence of her wand. There were distinguishable voices, a murmur against the solitude, floating out towards her through the slit in the doorway of the kitchen.

Hermione was stood right outside now and her frown deepened when she recognised the tilt of the voice, but she failed to place it. She pushed the door open.

“Hermione!”

Gideon’s surprised voice made her entire body sag with relief. He was sitting at the table, legs propped up, arm stretched along the back of his chair. She dropped the hand at her side and said, “Merlin, I thought you were an intruder or something!”

“If we were intruders, you’d be dead,” Fabian said, appearing from the side and carrying two Muggle beers. Hermione raised an eyebrow at their choice of beverage.

Gideon noticed and said, “They’re very strong.”

“And if I were an intruder, you’d both be too pissed to do anything about it,” she replied wearily. She swotted at his feet and sat down when he moved them. Her eyes found Fabian. “You don’t happen to have anymore, do you?”

Fabian shared a glance with his brother, then grinned. “One beer for the lady, coming right up.”

Gideon popped open his can and took a sip, eyeing her over the rim. “Well, we know why we’re depressed as hell. Why are you?”

Hermione gratefully accepted the beer Fabian offered her, relishing in the coldness that trickled down her throat. She didn’t usually drink but her body and mind were too numb to register the burn of the alcohol.

“Why are you depressed?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, ah,” Fabian said, shaking his head. “We asked you first.”

Hermione flicked her eyes between the two of them, before taking a long drink.

Gideon murmured, “I have a feeling this is going to be thrilling.”

“My friends hate me because they think I was going to go back home,” she said, specifically leaving out the most crucial detail of where exactly _home_ was.

Fabian frowned. “Were you?”

“I don’t know… Not now! Not in the middle of the war!” Hermione stressed loudly, and then she tried to calm herself down because the twins had done nothing wrong. “Maybe afterwards.”

“Well, why can’t they go with you? I mean, where are you from?” Gideon asked, waving his hand. “Cornwall? I’m guessing Cornwall. That’s not very far. It’s like a- what, four and a half hour drive? And we’re magic! So that cuts that time down to a second! Maybe two at a stretch.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She knew that he was just trying to help her feel better but the absurdity of it all made her snort into her beer. An amused grin curled her lips and she shared a glance with Fabian, who pulled a face at her.

She shoved her hair out of her face and said, “Somewhere near there. So what about you two? What are you doing skulking around here for?”

“Molly was doing our nut in,” Fabian replied, wrinkling his nose. “I love her, but Godric is that woman a handful.”

Hermione felt a soft smile pull at her lips. She had adamantly avoided meeting Molly Weasley in this time, because she didn’t know how she would cope with seeing the mother of the boy she loved, especially when that boy had been killed in front of her. No, it was for the best that she steered well clear of the woman, no matter how much she cared for her.

“How’re the twins?” She asked. April 1978 had rolled around as a shock to Hermione, when Gideon and Fabian had turned up at Headquarters, running through the corridors shouting so all could hear that ‘IT’S TWINS! IT’S TWINS! TWO BOYS! OUR APPRENTICES! MOLLY’S HAD TWINS!’ She had been shocked into silence, realising that she had been completely oblivious to how the original timeline was catching her up. They were slowly but surely growing up, a year and a half old!

Gideon leaned forward, widening his eyes and said, “They’re little shits. It’s bloody brilliant!”

She laughed, taking another swig. “I bet you’re thrilled. You finally have someone to pass on your mischief to, young enough to be susceptible and Weasley enough for it to be a legacy.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Damn right!” Fabian agreed. “You can already tell Percy’s going to be a prude. Bill’s smarter than the both of us combined so he was never going to fall for it. Charlie’s got his head in the clouds.”

“We’re counting on these two,” Gideon explained. “Who knows how many more kids Molly’s going to pop out?”

“Oh!” Hermione pulled a face, shaking her head. “Pop out? That’s not how it works!”

He waved a hand noncommittedly and said, “You know what I mean. I hope she gets at least another two before we die.”

Fabian leaned back against the counter and smiled wistfully. “Yeah, she wants a girl. I want to see her have a little baby girl before I go.”

Hermione’s smile faded from her face and she looked between them. “What are you talking about?”

They both looked at her, then at each other. “We’re not stupid enough to think we’re going to survive this,” Gideon told her.

“You’re stupid if you think that you aren’t,” she replied heatedly.

Fabian looked cautious and he said, “We’re not planning on dying, Hermione. Don’t give me that look, we don’t have a death wish. We’re just not going to think that the war is going to be kind to us. It’s not stupidity, it’s common sense.”

Hermione stared at them, then her eyes dropped to the floor. She said, “Nobody has to die.”

“Nobody has to,” Gideon said. “But somebody will… because that is what happens in war.”

There were a few minutes of silence, as they each finished their beers. Then, Gideon lugged himself to his feet, checking his watch. “I think we’ve evaded Molly for long enough,” he said heavily, although there was a fondness to his voice. “We best get going.”

“You’re more than welcome to join the party,” Fabian told her. “Molly would love an excuse to cook more pudding.”

Hermione smiled at them but shook her head. “Thank you but, I think I should probably go to bed.”

“Ah, Caradoc told you about Friday?”

She looked at him, frowning. “What?”

The twins shared a glance. Fabian said slowly, “Friday… They found a new lead on the cup…We assumed he’d have told you about it.”

Hermione shook her head, but excitement flared up in her. She’d been anticipating a new mission; something to distract her.

“You, us, Dorcas, Edgar, Caradoc and Moody,” Gideon counted off on his fingers. She narrowed her eyes.

“That’s a lot of people to follow up a lead,” she pointed out.

“That’s what we said.”

“Anyway!” Gideon clapped his hands. He ruffled up her hair and said, “We’ll be seeing you. Sleep well and rest up for Friday. You’re gonna need it.”

He sent her a youthful, freckle-spattered grin. Hermione smiled at him. They both collected up their stuff and headed towards the door, leaving her staring at her feet.

"Chin up, poppet," Fabian said, pausing in the doorway. He was smiling at her. It was a lot softer than the grin she was accustomed to seeing. "Things will get better."


	69. Chapter 69

** Chapter 69 **

 

**September 1979**

 

 

There was silence.

Apart from the creaking of the floorboards underneath their feet, there was no sign of life in the manor house. The ends of their wands were ignited, illuminating a metre or two in all directions, but the darkness quickly swallowed that light up as they moved on. They were cautious, careful; despite the fact that this wasn’t the first mission they had been on, the way their hearts were beating erratically, jumping up their throats- it may as well have been.

Hermione welcomed the thrill of war that spiked her blood. She hadn't even seen her boys since they had found the spell, and she was grateful for the distraction this mission gave her. Only Peter had bothered to come and wish her luck. He had been holding Mary's hand tightly and had given her a big hug. Hermione knew he was saying everything he couldn't physically say.

_Come back and we'll sort this out. We love you. You won't lose us. You can't._

Hermione led the group with Caradoc, with the twins bringing up the back. Dorcas and Moody were scoping the grounds, and Edgar (a bumbling dwarf of a man who had sourced the information for the raid) bulked up the middle of their formation. They walked quietly, frigidly.

Caradoc muttered a spell under his breath, paused and then said, “There’s no magic in the next corridor. It’s clear.”

"Shouldn't we have stumbled across him by now?" Edgar asked, frowning. His voice was a high wheeze.

"It's fine," Caradoc replied but he sounded unsure. "He's here."

The man they were searching for was reported to have been asking about the cup in Knocturn Alley. It wasn't much, not at all, but it was more than they'd had in a long time. Missions were scarce at the moment, so it seemed Datner had wanted as many people on the field as possible, without raising suspicion. The manor house was large as well; the more fighters, the better.

"Someone's here, at least," Caradoc muttered. Hermione caught the last bit, but it seemed the others hadn't for she was the only one who looked at him. He shot her an easy smile.

They continued their venture with calculated steps. The place seemed abandoned, like nobody had even visited for centuries. Cobwebs shrouded the walls and ceiling. Rotting wood rattled in the slight breeze that slipped through the unreliable foundations of the building.

Hermione shivered slightly, craning her neck back to whisper into the open space in front of both twins, “Lovely home, wouldn’t you agree boys?”

They both grinned.

The house was oddly vacant, even though a quick scan of the place told them that there was someone here. Hermione glanced sideways on at Caradoc, whose face was taut with concentration. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he raised an eyebrow and met her gaze.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. It just feels like we should’ve found something by now.”

Caradoc looked at her properly then and said, “It’s all good. This old man is just a bit harder to find than what we anticipated.”

Hermione nodded, flicking her eyes away. He lowered his voice and said, “Heard you and Lupin fell out.”

“Yeah.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said blandly. “I suppose he didn’t want to listen to what I had to say.”

Caradoc shot her a look, and an unamused laugh broke free from his mouth. “Well don’t get your hopes up. I think you’ll find most guys are like that.”

Hermione shook her head, but a small smile curled her lips as her mind drifted to Ron. He never seemed to want to listen to what she had to say either. She still loved him with all her heart. She still loved Remus with all her heart. She swallowed, casting the thought away and said, “What about you? How’s cupid treating you?”

Caradoc coughed, spluttering as he tried to cover his laugh. He said, “Cupid avoids me. I’m not interested. I think he’s learnt his lesson and decided to stop wasting his time.”

Hermione let her eyes drift to him and he shrugged. She supposed it was easier that way, lonelier… but easier. At least then, the only person who could truly hurt you was yourself.

A corridor later, they stopped short. Edgar frowned at them, opening his mouth and asking, “Does anyone else feel like-”

He never finished. A flash of green erupted out of the shadows and Edgar slumped to the floor. Hermione bit back a scream.

A whirl of black intruded upon the derelict scene in front of them. The same whooshing noise could be heard multiple times behind them as well. The remaining four assumed the defence positions, back to back, each with their wands out. Caradoc’s magic encompassed the others and he tensed suddenly when it dropped, like a stone in water. “Wards are up. There’s no getting out anytime soon.”

Hermione felt like she had been doused in ice, and it incapacitated her body. She could feel the thrum of Fabian’s life behind her, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins seemed to accelerate. She hated the way she liked this feeling, but thrived off of it all the same. She didn’t care about herself, about whether she lived or died. She only cared about the people surrounding her… and one of them was already dead on the floor.

Their eyes scanned the shadows, but there were no discernible figures that took shape. It was all darkness.

A chuckle, strangely masculine but cold broke through the quietness. Amused eyes regarded the Order members before him. “Well, well. It looks like we have… _visitors_.”

**oOoOoOo**

The office was dark and cold.

Despite the fact that the fire was crackling merrily in the hearth and there were quite a lot of people, it was very cold.

Emmeline was stood in one corner of the meeting room, eyes downcast, jerking violently upwards whenever the door opened. Her face was ashen and she was playing with the bracelet Dorcas had given her for her birthday. Benjy stood next to her. He looked as though he was trying and failing to engage her in a lively conversation, and his face crumpled when he realised how profound his failure truly was. He gave up fairly soon, resorting to slumping against the wall and letting his eyes follow the other Order members.

Datner paced. He hadn’t been on edge until Caradoc had failed to send out the scheduled sign to let Headquarters know the raid was running smoothly. Since then, the group awaited any response with eagerness and a hint of growing desperation. They knew that it would be fine. Everything would be fine. It always was.

“Where is he?” James murmured, eyes flicking to the door and back. He checked his watch. Lily stood and watched him quietly. “I sent him a message ages ago. He should be here by now. They _both_ should be.”

“They will be,” she said firmly, taking hold of both of his hands and holding them to her chest. He could feel her heartbeat brushing the tips of his fingers.

As if they had felt their ears burning, the door burst open and Remus flew into the room, followed by Sirius. His hair was everywhere and it looked like he had gotten dressed in a hurry for the buttons on his shirt were in the wrong holes. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“Sorry I was late, I was sleeping,” Remus explained distractedly, stopping in front of them.

“Have they gone?” Sirius asked, dark eyes scanning the room. He must have sensed the group’s agitation and found his answer lying there for he then asked, “Have you heard from them? How’s it going?”

James’ face seemed to tighten as he looked at them and both boys shrunk slightly. Lily intervened, saying in a soft voice, “They left before dinner. We kept in touch with them until twenty minutes ago, when we lost all communications. They were supposed to relay back to us at half past. We haven’t heard anything since.”

“So then what are we all doing standing here?” Remus demanded incredulously. “We need to send a back-up team to check on them, to see if they’re all still alive!”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Datner warned him.

Remus’ head shot to look at him. “Why not? Surely anything’s better than sitting around and doing nothing!”

“We can’t do anything!” The other man replied forcefully. “If we intercept, then the Death Eaters will definitely know something’s happening. We can’t all go storming in there just because of a missed check-up! Remus, you know this. Use your head!”

 _“What about using your heart?!”_ Remus growled, but there was a franticness tinging his voice as he stormed over and shook Datner by the front of his robes. James appeared behind him then, pulling him away.

Remus shrugged his friend off and stalked away from them. Pete spoke up hesitantly, “She said she loved you. Just before she left. She wanted me to tell you.”

He paused, and forced himself to turn back around. He was shaking his head. “Don’t tell me. She’ll tell me herself when she gets back.”

Nobody bothered to raise the fact that Hermione Granger might not come back. Nor any of them. Nobody dared to… just in case they were right.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

“I’ve always liked visitors. Such pleasant things. So… _disappointing_ when they’re not invited… It’s awfully rude, wouldn’t you say?”

The voice hissed through the shadows, and the remaining four assumed their defence positions, arms extended, wands steady, eyes cutting through the shadows. Not one of them knew where the voice was coming from, or who it belonged to, but there was something about it that made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up.

The twins had faces of anger, and hair of dark orange. Their pale skin was dotted in freckles that seemed to pulse with the promise of a fight.

“You know, Gideon,” one of them said suddenly, a surprising hardness to his voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were unwelcome, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes, Fabian,” the other replied stonily. Measured eyes coldly watched the Death Eaters, that monolith army of darkness that clung to the walls, barricading their exit. “I was quite hoping to be offered some tea and cakes. But I’ve got a feeling that’s out of the question.”

The words were light, but their tones were not.

The nearest Death Eater, whose face was only visible as he stepped into Caradoc’s wand light, snarled. “The _Prewett_ twins,” he spat. “I’ve heard all about you. What a pleasure it will be to watch you _beg for mercy.”_

“Now, Antonin,” the voice said, tutting softly. “That’s no way to treat our guests. Is such coarse language really necessary in front of a lady?”

Hermione felt the blood in her veins turn heavy, and her heart ached because it could not function on lead. She whipped her wand through the shadows, watching as the dark figures writhed out of her way. “Who are you?” She demanded loudly.

The chuckle that replied was low and melodic and masculine, and Hermione thought it strange that such a lovely sound should be heard here. “Oh, _Kairos_. Shouldn’t you, of all people, know?”

And it felt as though everything was crashing down around her; as though the building was collapsing, and the roof was raining down above her head, threatening to wipe her out. Except she much preferred that version of reality; the current version was far more sinister.

“ _Voldemort_ ,” she breathed.

Caradoc tensed up beside her, freezing at the sound of the name. Hermione felt chilled, wishing she could run away or wake up, hoping it was all just a nightmare. She could feel the erratic and frightened beat of her heart, however, and knew that this, right now, was real. This was happening. Life, it seemed, was the most terrifying nightmare of them all.

He chuckled again, though this time, it made her shiver and when He stepped out into the pool of light their wands created, Hermione felt her heart stop altogether.

It was still odd to see him as a young man, whole and otherwise untouched by age with dark hair and white skin. She didn’t know whether it was because she knew his future appearance or if the others saw it too but there was something flickering about this façade, as though it was a mask to hide the true monster simmering beneath.

Voldemort tilted his head as he regarded her, red eyes flicking across her form. Hermione stood up straighter, raising her chin and her face became icy. This was the man that would kill Lily and James.

 _‘Not if I kill him first,’_ she thought.

“I expected… _more_ ,” he said, sounding almost disappointed. “After everything I’ve heard… I thought you’d be a little more… _exciting_. But you’re just a girl.”

“A girl who’s going to kill you,” Hermione replied coldly. Voldemort’s eyes flashed with interest.

“Oh?” He asked, and he spread his arms wide. “Go ahead then. Kill me, little girl. Show us all what a threat you are. Show me how _exciting_ you can be.”

She refused to play into his little trap and simply gritted her teeth. His eyes seemed to spark again. “Ah, defiant, are we? Let me guess, you’re a Gryffindor?” He spat the word out mockingly.

Hermione didn’t answer and Voldemort’s face dropped of emotion, abruptly becoming devoid of anything. It was like staring at a statue. “I bet Dumbledore’s thrilled with you,” he said and the words were hostile. “Are you Albus’ favourite? Does he enjoy exploiting you for your knowledge?”

She swallowed, but kept her eyes locked on him as he glided closer. She felt Fabian’s entire body go rigid, as if he was holding himself back from throttling the Dark Lord. “Do you even know he’s exploiting you? Did he tell you it was all for the best?” Voldemort was inches away from her now. His breath was hot on her face as he whispered, “Did he tell you it was all for _The Greater Good?”_

Hermione sealed her lips, and for some reason, she found she could not look away from him. His face had adopted a look which she found hard to place; it was like some sort of hunger, desperate and ravenous. He leaned closer still. “Just one more question.” His words were a murmur on the air between them. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and she was reminded of a snake before it poisoned and ate its prey. Voldemort said, “What do you know, _little time-traveller?”_

Hermione inhaled deeply before she spat at his feet. He pulled away, snarling.

“If you want to be difficult, so be it,” he hissed. And her mind imploded.

It was excruciating; like nothing she had ever felt before. This sort of leglimency felt like he was invading her mind with a writhing hot poker, prodding at anything and everything he could find. She willed herself to push against him, clenching her fists and closing her eyes. She grappled for any steady control, desperately clinging onto the fringes of reality. She could not let Voldemort see the things she had seen. Even if it killed her.

She tried to think of something that would be strong enough to push him out because he couldn’t see his victory; he couldn’t see the way Lily’s sacrifice had all but destroyed him, nor the way Draco Malfoy died betraying him. He couldn’t see Avery feeding her information, nor their hunt for the horcruxes. Hermione thought of Harry. She thought of Ron. She pushed back with every ounce of strength she could muster from her body and somehow, his agitated shriek cut through it all and she was wrenched into reality.

She hadn’t realised it but she was sweating, and panting. Voldemort was stood opposite her and by the fury on his face, he had not seen anything. The relief was so strong, it made her legs weak.

“Make no mistake, _Kairos_ ,” he said loftily, wand tracing her pulse. “I _will_ find out. You _will_ tell me, dear. Willingly or not…” He moved away, turning on his heel. Over his shoulder, just before he disappeared in a whirl of smoke, he said, “Kill the spares. Bring her to me alive.”

Hermione didn’t even give herself time to think. She shouted, “ _Confringo_!” aiming it into the sea of Death Eaters and barely relishing in the explosion it created. It seemed this was the sign her team had been waiting for, for they leapt into action.

Caradoc wasn’t afraid to fight back just as dirty, aiming deadly and ancient curses at the masked figures. Once hit, they shrieked in agony before falling forwards, dead, blood bursting from every orifice, boiled. Fabian and Gideon were wild. Like lions going in for the kill. They lunged with the ease and elegance of a big cat, despite their size, and were perfectly timed to the other’s movements. Their spells complimented each other nicely, and they took down more Death Eater’s than they had fingers to count.

Although Voldemort had disappeared, like a wisp of smoke, melting away from the conflict, he was still there. _Somewhere_. They could sense his presence in the air.

Hermione tried to ignore it, but his words kept haunting her.

_‘Kairos. I am going to swallow you. I am going to savour you.’_

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought so she could focus on her fighting. She fired spell after spell, both nonverbal and wandless, trying to take down as many as possible. The only thing that kept her going were the breathless groans and shouts of her friends, fighting by her side.

 

**oOoOoOo**

Headquarters was a tense and quiet place. The air had grown frigid and the lack of communication from the team had made them all nervous. Datner still refused to do anything about it and so, all they could do was sit and wait and hope for the best.

They did not have to wait long for a loud pop broke through the silence of the room, and Dorcas and Moody appeared suddenly. Dorcas was supporting the older Auror, seemingly keeping him standing. He was bloody, barely conscious. In his face, there was a gaping hole, and the socket where his eye should be was gushing, gargling every so often. He spat the blood on the floor.

Datner rushed over to take his other side, and they tried to move him to sit down, but he stayed in the same place. Frowning, Datner looked down at his leg and felt faint. From the knee downwards, was empty space. Moody was balancing on his only remaining leg and yet, he refused to move.

“Alastor, we need to get you sat down so we can heal this,” Datner urged.

Moody reached out and grabbed hold of his robes, ragging him about. The blood from his eye impaired his speech, but he managed to gargle out, “ _He’s there… Need to… get pip… out of there… Not safe… Not safe…”_

**oOoOoOo**

 

“How many you got, Gid?” Fabian shouted over the deafening roar of the battle. They sidestepped out of the path of spells and shot back twice as many.

“Four!” Gideon yelled back. His spell hit a Death Eater straight in the chest, causing him to fly backwards and convulse. “Five!”

Fabian shook his head, sparing a glance at his brother. He said, “Shocking! I’m on eight!”

The way Gideon’s face contorted and his mouth dropped open was evidence that he was having a hard time believing this and he said defensively, “That fat one only counts as one!”

Fabian just laughed.

Whilst Caradoc and Hermione took on those in front, the twins fought with vigour and hatred those from behind. There were maybe five or six Death Eaters on this side and they were being pushed back, desperately shooting one spell after another, blindingly hoping it would reach a target. It seemed as though victory was in grasp… when a shadow came slithering from a new direction, slinking in the darkness.

They were all too complacent, grinning as they tasted their sweat and forced the Death Eaters backwards. The tense exhilaration of a winning battle was sweet and tangible in the air and they were _so close!_ Hermione could almost touch it-

Perhaps that’s why no one noticed the green spell groping from the tip of Dolohov’s wand. Perhaps that’s why Gideon, the eldest brother (“ _by TWO minutes!”_ Fabian would protest insistently every time it was brought up) widened his eyes in shock as the magic made contact with his chest, striking the life from his body, as the last breath was wrenched from his bloody lips, which still had the ghost of a grin tainting them. He collapsed in a broken tangle of limbs, eyes staring but not seeing, mouth open with the promise of a joke with a punchline that would never get to be told.

Fabian faltered, his wand dropping an inch or two. His face slumped. His knees felt weak. His heart stopped beating, he was sure of it. Or maybe that was just the part of him that belonged to Gideon, who was sprawled out, hazel eyes glassy as they looked up at his baby brother. The red stubble that clung to his chin, forming a small beard, was smudged with blood.

Someone grabbed Fabian from behind, jolting him out of his numbed state. He thrashed, screaming and kicking out, sobbing and calling for his brother to wake up, wake up Goddammit. He ignored the flashes of multi-coloured light and shouts of spells. The fight was just background noise.

Hands on his shoulders spun him around and through his tears, he saw a bloody Caradoc. He was saying something, although the words died on his ears.

He knew the remaining five Death Eaters were behind him. The ones responsible for his brother’s, his best friend’s, his other half’s death. Fabian looked Caradoc directly in the eye and shook his head. The other man looked bewildered, and started saying something, reaching for him but Fabian had already set of running back to Gideon’s body. When he reached his side, he slumped to his knees, clutching at Gideon’s lifeless corpse.

Hermione started running forward, yelling at him, his name torn from her lips. She tried to reach him but Caradoc’s arm swooped out and stopped her, catching her waist. She kept running, and he had to lift her off the ground to prevent her from getting caught in the crossfire.

“FABIAN!” Hermione screamed, and it strained her throat. Spells were still being fired at them, shooting into the ground next to their feet and skimming their heads to strike the wall. With his free hand, Caradoc had cast a shielding spell, trying to pull her away. She refused to move. “ _FABIAN!”_

Fabian turned to look at her, and his hair was like a halo in the explosions behind him. His freckled face was pale beneath the blood and bruises that had formed there, and the whizzing lights of the magic were reflected in his eyes. He smiled slightly, and said, “Chin up, poppet. Things will get better."

Hermione fell limp in Caradoc’s arms, numb from the shock of what she was seeing. When she realised what Fabian was going to do, she thrashed wildly, more wildly than ever before, frantic to break free and drag him back with her.

Fabian kneeled beside Gideon’s broken body, and his face crumpled as he finally cried. “Now I know what you felt like,” he said in a quiet and trembling voice. “Spending those two minutes alone.” He kissed the top of his brother’s head softly. “I’m sorry, Gideon.”. Tears falling freely, he lifted his wand and fired non-verbal spells at the Death Eaters who were coming closer and closer to him. Five of them. Against one of him. He figured he could at least slow them down to give Hermione and Caradoc time to get away.

He could hear her screaming his name in the distance, and it was that noise that spurred him on. Their clattering footsteps got further and further away, down the corridor, to safety.

Fabian felt the impact of the spells, each hitting his body with the same winding force, and heard the scream that cut through everything.

He crumpled to the floor beside his brother-

-and then there was nothing.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Caradoc and Hermione apparated to Headquarters and the world seemed to spin, even when they were standing still. She could hear everyone talking around her, coming up to her to see what had happened, but none of that registered as she bent over and threw up.

Caradoc was still standing close to her but he didn’t look at her, not even as she straightened up.

 

“You’re from the future?” He said quietly. His mouth didn’t even move. Hermione nodded. “Could you have saved them?”

She swallowed and her throat felt scratchy. Biting her lip to hold back the sob, she shook her head. “I didn’t even know,” she whispered.

Caradoc’s jaw tightened but he didn’t reply. He bowed his head in a short nod of understanding, before he allowed Emmeline to cheek his vital signs and look over any injuries.

Remus was the first thing Hermione saw and he wasted no time in rushing over and holding her to him, tightly, so that she couldn’t leave him again. He kissed her hair, whispering, _“I’m sorry,”_ over and over.

Hermione wanted to sob, to unleash all of this pain she was feeling inside of her, but the tears just wouldn’t come. She simply stood there, in his arms, feeling empty.

“What happened?” Datner pressed. She lowered her eyes.

“He was waiting for us,” she murmured.

“Who?” James asked, pale as a sheet.

Hermione’s lips parted, but it took her a second to actually reply. “ _Voldemort_.”

There was a unanimous hush around the room, and it seemed nobody was willing to ask another question. Nobody really wanted to know the answer.

Benjy was the one to speak up and he said, trying not to let the desperation leak into his voice, “Where’s the rest of you? Gideon and Fabian?”

Caradoc looked at him. He spoke in a low and deathly quiet voice. “They fought to the very end. It took five Death Eaters to take them down. Edgar didn’t stand a chance.”

The news felt like a wave crashing down on them all, drowning the Order in its wretchedness. It was hard to think that the two young jokers, the ones who never failed to make people happy, even in the darkest of times, were gone, wiped from the face of the Earth before they had even had a chance to live. Hermione tried to tune out the moans and screams of anguish. She couldn’t bear to listen to them.

It was sudden and shocking, like most things are, and yet when she realised it, she felt nothing at all. No shock. No sadness. No weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. Hermione had been so enraptured in the war, in praying that everyone would make it out okay, that she had completely forgotten,

Today was her birthday.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Sirius stormed out of office.

“Sirius!” Remus called frantically, pushing past people to follow his friend. “Sirius!”

He made it out, and the quiet relief of the corridor outside seemed to spill over him. Moonlight trickled in through the tiny windows and Remus flinched, skirting around them to run to his best friend.

Sirius was stood in the shadows, his dark suit and dark hair blending in seamlessly. “Sirius-”

He spun around, eyes blazing. “They were two of the best fighters we had.”

“I know, Sir-”

_“It could be you.”_

Remus inhaled sharply, recoiling and staring at his friend in a mingled expression of shock and bewilderment.

“It could have been you, Remus. Or James. Or Peter. Or Hermione. They were skilled fighters. _We’re just kids_. We’re just kids and we’re fighting Death Eaters! We’re fighting _You-Know-Who!_ What chance do we have? Really?! _What chance do we actually have?!”_ Tears leaked down his cheeks, catching on the stubble there. Sirius’s face crumpled. “I don’t want to lose any of you, Remus. You’re all I have. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you-”

Sirius stumbled forwards and Remus quickly held out his arms to catch him. They just gripped each other, fingers clenched tightly in the other’s clothing, so that nothing could tear them apart. It was like a fusion of atoms that held them together, welded them into one beating heart. Remus had forgotten what it felt like to feel as though you were a part of someone else. He had also forgotten what it felt like to fear that person being taken away from you forever.

“You are not alone, Sirius,” he said, voice shaking but firm. “You will never be alone. _You will not lose us._ And that is a promise.”

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

He was already there when she arrived.

They both were. Hermione hadn’t bothered to shower and she could feel the blood, still hot and sticky, mixed in with her sweat and tears but she didn’t care; fury was coursing through her veins, fuelling her. She wasted no time in marching straight over to Avery, who was stood by the fireplace. His dark eyes widened fractionally at the sight of her and he wasn’t prepared at all as she started punching him, hitting his chest and face over and over again, as hard as she could.

At first, she did it silently, but the sobs broke through, and Hermione beat him, crying.

“YOU KNEW!” She yelled, sobbing. “ _You knew…”_

He tried to catch her flailing wrists and when he did, he trapped them between their bodies and just held her to him. His arms were tight around her and she wanted to break from his embrace and run because he had killed Gideon and Fabian, but she couldn’t because she needed this comfort. She sobbed into his chest, gripping his shirt as tightly as she possibly could.

Regulus just stood and watched, bewildered. A few minutes passed, where Hermione heaved and eventually, her sobs subsided to a weep every now and then. Avery kept his arms firmly around her, as if he could keep her from shattering.

“I guess it’s like the ticking crocodile,” Regulus said sadly, eyes trapped on her heartbroken form. They both looked at him. “Time is chasing after all of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	70. Chapter 70- The Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I must be a horrible person but I love all your reviews from the last chapter. It’s got to be my favourite chapter yet, even after what happens in it. I’m so glad you guys don’t hate me that much yet and realise that death is necessary in this fic.  
> Just to clear some things up, the reason why Hermione broke down and attacked Avery is because Avery is supposed to be her ‘inside man’ who warns her of the Death Eaters actions before they happen so that Hermione can warn the Order to minimalize causalities. In the chapter before last, she specifically asked him if there was anything she needed to know (meaning were there any plans that affected the Order from his side of the war?) and Avery said no.  
> Obviously, this was a lie as the raid was intercepted by Voldemort himself. Anything Voldemort is involved in has got to be big news, so Avery should’ve known. And yet he didn’t tell Hermione, which she knows could have prevented the twins’ death.  
> I hope that clears it up:)
> 
> Sorry I was so bad at updating, I went on a school trip to Berlin!! And I've only just gotten back!

 

** Chapter 70- The Test **

**December 1979**

 

 

It was odd how, even in the middle of a war, when people were dying all around you and your sanity was being ripped at and reality just didn’t seem to make sense that time still went on. There was nothing more to it, other than the fact that you are so busy fighting to keep yourself and others alive, that you forget to look around you and suddenly, months have gone by. You’re older than you used to be, and there are bags under your eyes showing you haven’t slept in days, sometimes weeks. You forget that time doesn’t stop for anyone, it just overtakes you. And when it catches you, you’re gone.

Christmas came in a flurry of snow, ravaging at the little house in Godric’s Hollow. The graveyard was buried, with only the very tips of the gravestones visible to walkers-by. The houses were all lit up, fairy lights dangling from doorways and twirled around trees, windows like a beam of light. Hermione found it strange, how happiness could be found even in the darkest of places. But as she sat by the fire at Godric’s Hollow, watching as Lily snuggled into James, and Sirius and Remus sprawled across the other settee, fighting for Elvendork (the cat Lily had found wandering in the churchyard and promptly adopted, without so much as asking James. James had been thrilled either way when a kitten had suddenly turned up in his house and since they couldn't tell whether the cat was a boy or a girl, Elvendork had won the name contest), and Peter sat next to her, fresh snow still melting in his blonde hair, Hermione didn't think there was anywhere else that felt like this.

Lily paused, about to take another sip, lips hovering over her cup’s rim. “Sirius, honey, stop pestering the poor cat. He doesn’t like you,” she said, trying to stop the smile from stealing across her freckled face.

Sirius pouted, retracting his hand from the large furball that was curled up on Remus’ lap. Remus laid back, with his legs stretched in front of him whilst Sirius was on his knees, leaning over to try and pester Elvendork, looking like a five-year-old child who was fascinated by something.

“You’re a dog, Padfoot. Elvy’s a cat,” she continued, shaking her head slightly to emphasize her point. “You don’t mingle!”

“But Remus is a werewolf! That’s a dog!” Sirius protested.

“Yes, but Remus is only a dog once a month. You, on the other hand, are a mangy mutt all year round.”

The ‘mangy mutt’ in question recoiled as though he was deeply offended. Hermione burst out laughing but she quickly turned it into a cough as his eyes widened; a hand came up to nurse his broken heart. Shifting his attention to his best friend, Sirius said, “Prongs! Do something about this! Your wife is out of control!”

James just laughed, tugging her closer. “Sorry mate, can’t argue with the truth.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped open even further. Peter snickered on the floor. “James! Does our friendship mean nothing to you?"

“Padfoot, you know you're my best friend,” James disputed lovingly. “You just also happen to be a mangy dog!”

Remus smirked, reaching over to mess up Sirius’ hair. “Yes, but you’re our mangy dog.”

The sentence was said with so much truth and affection that Sirius faltered, allowing a small smile to quirk his lips, before he frowned and argued “I am not a mangy dog! I am a cute and cuddly but also very dangerous puppy with luscious locks-”

“Oh alright, Snuffles," Remus said loudly, "we get the idea.”

Sirius looked appeased for a minute or two before his eyes popped out of their sockets and he looked at Remus in utmost disgust. "Snuffles?! Are we bringing that back? Please don't bring that back! I beg of you!"

As they laughed, Hermione's eyes flicked to all of them, lingering on the way their necks pulsed and their eyes screwed shut. Then, they fell on Lily and she paused.

Lily wasn't laughing. On the contrary, she looked pale (more so than usual)  and her lips were sealed tightly. She murmured something to James and left the room, all but running. Hermione got to her feet and followed her out.

She crept up the stairs, hearing violent retching disrupt the laughter downstairs. Once she got to the top, she walked to the only open door and stood in the doorway. The bathroom was small, bathed in a yellow light, and Lily was sat on the floor, huddled over the toilet, spewing up her guts.

Hermione rushed over, brushing her red hair back from her face and making soothing noises. Lily continued to be sick over the toilet, crying freely as it forced its way up and burnt her throat. When it appeared to have subsided, she leaned back onto her heels, resting her cheek on Hermione's knee. She looked so drained.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" Hermione asked, concerned, stroking Lily's hair.

"For a couple weeks now," she mumbled.

Hermione swallowed as a thought presented itself. She tried to tamper down the hope that sparked up in her body, telling herself that she couldn't get her hopes up-

But the timeline was right. Her hands stilled.

"What?" Lily asked feebly, trying to turn her head to look up at her.

Hermione said, "Have you- are you-?" She broke off, frustrated and uncomfortable that her words wouldn't work. She decided to just come out and say it, mustering all her control to conceal the hope electrifying her body. "Is there a chance you might be pregnant?"

Lily stilled, staring at the wall in silence. Hermione resumed running her fingers through her hair, trying to simulate a response, but Lily didn't react.

Hermione pressed a kiss to the top of her head and said, "I'll get you one."

She apparated, leaving Lily alone. Now that it was quiet, she could hear the thudding of her heart. It couldn't be- she couldn't be- not now... Not in a middle of a war-

And yet, her hands hesitantly flitted to her stomach. Could a baby be growing in there? Could her baby be growing in there?

Hermione reappeared a few minutes later, a plastic bag clutched in her hand. She gently held it out, waiting for Lily to take it.

Lily raised her head, eyes fearfully and tearfully finding the bag, which she stared at for a moment, before she dragged them to Hermione's face. Hermione faltered; the terror in her eyes was prominent and she knew why- having a baby in the middle of the war was beyond difficult, it was beyond possible. It was worse than death, condemning your own flesh and blood, a child, to death as well.

Hermione's eyes flicked down to Lily's stomach, and it was so startling to think that Harry was so close to her, closer to her than he'd been in a long time, closer to life.

Lily took the plastic bag.

Hermione moved to the corner of the room, turning her back so that Lily could do the test. Her hands were sweaty and she rubbed them on her jeans, willing herself to breathe. It was so odd that this could be it, the beginning of everything. The beginning of the kind-hearted boy with the emerald eyes and the dark, messy hair, who would grow up and lose everyone, who would have to lose everything in order to save the world. Who would die at the tender age of seventeen, slipping away into nonexistence.

There was a soft gasp-

"Lily?"

Hermione spun around.

Lily froze and then her eyes found Hermione’s. They were wet and pink, and her eyelashes were congealed. Her lips were parted and she murmured, in a voice that Hermione had to strain to hear, “It’s negative.”

Hermione’s entire body seemed to stop, and the blood running through her veins turned to lead. She uttered, “What?”

Lily looked confused and she was breathless, with what could be relief, but there was something sad to her tone, something shocked and somewhat disappointed. “I’m not pregnant.”

Hermione’s heart stopped beating.

“What?”

Lily whispered again, “It’s negative,” and she twisted the test to show her. It was. It was negative.

Hermione shook her head, eyebrows furrowed, tears finding their way into her eyes. "No," she murmured. "No! You need to- you need to try it again." She ran and snatched up the plastic bag, pulling out a second pregnancy test. "I bought two! Please, try again. Lily, please"

Lily looked slightly alarmed. "Hermione," she said softly, and it was funny how the tone she used was the one Hermione should be using on her. "It's a false alarm. It's just sickness."

"No, please," she sobbed, taking hold of Lily's hands. "I need- you need-"

"Okay," Lily said gently, laying her hands on Hermione's and taking the test. "I'll do it again."

Hermione could barely believe it and a relieved sigh came out more as a choked sob, as she turned around. Her body felt like it had been electrocuted and she was now high on the buzz it gave her. It both terrified and excited her.

She waited, swallowing back any words that tried to get out. There was silence behind her, nothing to suggest whether she was finished or not. Hermione felt her heart stop and she said hesitantly, "Lily?"

Lily didn't reply, so she turned back around. Lily was kneeling on the floor, test clutched between her fingers, eyes glued to it. She looked up and her freckled face gave way to tear tracks.

"It's positive," she murmured. Hermione stopped breathing altogether. "I'm _pregnant_."

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

Dumbledore peered over his glasses at her. She shifted in her seat, eyes flicking anywhere but at her old headmaster. For some reason, Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at him. The meeting had been called rather unexpectedly, when she had woken up, sweating and writhing, wrenched from the clutches of yet another nightmare; the same one she had been having for weeks, with Voldemort and his hissing voice and Fabian and Gideon falling to the floor again and again.

It was like it never stopped. Now that she knew Harry was slowly merging into existing, it unsettled her even more. The nightmares morphed into memories of his young and bruised body, and she found she couldn't take it. Eventually, Hermione had owled Dumbledore, thinking that it would dispel the images if she could talk about them. And yet, as she sat there now, she found the words simply wouldn't come.

"Miss Granger," he said, and she closed her eyes. She had forgotten how much she missed the infinity in his voice. His blue eyes were clear and concerned. "Whatever is troubling you?"

Hermione swallowed, scratching at a cut on her arm. "I'm not really sure," she told him.

A slight frown pulled his eyebrows together, and he interlocked his fingers. Dumbledore didn't speak, merely looked at her and she knew that she had to try and explain it.

She licked her lips and said, "I just know things are going to start getting bad now.” Dumbledore watched her intently. “I know that despite everything I know, I might not be able to save everyone. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. I’m going to fight for them all. It’s just- I have so many people that I need to protect, you know? So many people that I think I'm finally realising that I won't be able to save all of them. Some of them are going to die and I don't know how to come to terms with that.”

Dumbledore stared at her, and Hermione dragged her eyes to meet his gaze. It felt like a huge weight had been taken off of her chest but even so, the truth of the matter terrified her.

“Miss Granger,” he began, but he didn’t continue. It was almost like he didn’t know what to say. That unnerved her even more- Dumbledore always knew what to say. The infinity in his voice wobbled. He tried again. “Miss Granger, you are an asset with or without your knowledge. If you let the responsibility of the war rest solely on your shoulders, it will destroy you.”

The words she had spoken to Caradoc echoed back to her.

_“You don’t have to do this all by yourself. You don’t have to feel the responsibility alone. We’re all fighting for the light. We’re all a team.”_

It was easier to say them to someone else, than to take them in and use them for yourself.

“I know,” Hermione said, nodding her head. “I know, but they haven’t had the opportunity I have. They were born to this time. They’re meant to fight this war. I’ve been sent here as a- a second chance. I can’t pretend that’s not what it is.”

“And you will use this second chance,” Dumbledore said calmly. “You will try your hardest and people will still die. Miss Granger, you are only one person. One child. This war is not yours to fight alone.”

Hermione stared at him then, and the honesty, the same honesty she already knew to be true, finally resonated within her. This war was going to happen either way, whether she had been sent back or not. There was nothing she could’ve done to prevent it. She could only fight alongside her friends and pray they all made it out alive.

_“Do you even know he’s exploiting you? Did he tell you it was all for the best?” Voldemort was inches away from her now. His breath was hot on her face as he whispered, “Did he tell you it was all for The Greater Good?”_

Hermione felt her body tense up. The words came to her randomly and she willed herself not to think about what He had said. He was just trying to scare her, to turn her against her own. This conversation alone was enough to cement her trust in Dumbledore. He might not have always made the right decisions, but he was a good man.

He must have sensed that there was something else bothering her, otherwise she would’ve left by now, for he tilted his head and said, “Is that all?”

Hermione cleared her throat. No, it wasn’t. There was something else.

"Voldemort said something," she said quietly, staring at the small swirling globe on Dumbledore's desk. "He called me 'Kairos'... It means time in Greek. It means he knows everything."

Hermione felt her heart thudding in her chest and she finally raised her eyes to Dumbledore. He was watching her calmly, fingers playing with his beard. His blue eyes were steady as he said, "Caradoc told me that Voldemort tried to invade your mind using leglimency, and that you managed to resist him."

She nodded, watching as his eyebrows lifted slightly. He leaned forward. "Miss Granger, that is exceptional magic. Your power far surpasses my estimation."

“I learned it for the last war. It was a necessary precaution,” she told him blandly. His leathery face was clear, but the wrinkles seemed heavy with a hint of concern.

“I realise that it was imperative to prevent him from seeing what you know, but you must also understand that this defiance has most likely piqued his interest exorbitantly.” She felt sick, but it wasn’t new information to her. She was already interesting to Voldemort, despite how unexciting he claimed to find her. Now, she had simply gained more of his attention. Dumbledore continued, “If I were you, Miss Granger, I would prepare myself for more meetings with the Dark Lord. He is not going to rest until he has you. You’re a useful weapon. To both sides.”

_“Do you even know he’s exploiting you? Did he tell you it was all for the best?” Voldemort was inches away from her now. His breath was hot on her face as he whispered, “Did he tell you it was all for The Greater Good?”_

Hermione shifted, hearing his words again without wanting to. Sometimes, it scared her how right Voldemort could be. But she supposed that he didn’t become the darkest wizard to ever live by chance; his persuasion skills were snake-like.

“I could always hand myself in,” she heard herself say detachedly. Dumbledore’s face morphed into an expression of alarm. “I could tell him things that wind him and his Death Eaters right into the Order’s hands. It would be easy enough-”

“For how long?” Dumbledore interrupted. “It would only work the once. As soon as his men were ambushed, he would know you were playing him. He is not as stupid as one might wish him to be, Miss Granger.”

“I know,” Hermione said, pulling her hand down her face. ”Trust me, I know… I just, I think we need a plan.”

She steadied her eyes on Dumbledore, wide and urging. He didn’t say anything. “We’ve been drifting along so far, ever since I left Hogwarts and this whole thing really started. We get a lead by chance, investigate it, maybe have to fight, maybe not. Maybe we lose some people, maybe we don’t. But this is a war now. That approach isn’t what’s going to win us this. It’s what’s going to get people killed.” She broke off, a desperate sound escaping her lips. “Trust me when I say, that just biding your time, aimlessly meandering in a war- it doesn’t work. Okay? It _didn’t_ work…”

Hermione wanted to continue speaking but she couldn’t. She could see the war from her time, see all the ways in which it didn’t work. If only Harry had been sent back with her- he would’ve known what to do! Although she was the brains, Harry was battle-smart, a leader. He was the type of person that people would follow into battle, or throw themselves down as a shield to preserve his life, without asking questions. In fact, they had done just that. He was the type of person who people would die for, but also the person people would live for. Who was she? She was just Hermione. She was nobody.

“Well then, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, clearing his throat. Her eyes refocused. “What do you propose?”

Hermione stared at him. For some reason, this question threw her off; she had wanted a plan and now he was asking her for one.

“We need to find the Cup first,” she heard herself say.

Dumbledore frowned at her. “What about the locket?”

She swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “I know where the locket is. I’ll get that one myself.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. She had a feeling he knew about Regulus anyway. “The Cup it is, then.”

“After that,” Hermione said. “We just need to kill Voldemort.”

“I see. And how do you suggest we do that?”

Her mind whirred and she rubbed her temple, laughing slightly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I think,” she said and Dumbledore’s lips curled. Neither one of them voiced why they would have to do that- they couldn't tell what skill-sets they'd have to work with. Who knew who would be alive or dead once it came down to it? It wasn’t even a proper plan and yet something about it calmed her. They stared at one another for a few more minutes before she glanced outside. The sky was dark, and Hermione knew she should probably be heading home.

She stood up, saying softly, “Merry Christmas, sir. Thank you.”

Dumbledore smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Miss Granger.”

She started walking to the door, but something nagged at the back of her mind and she paused in the doorway. She felt his eyes on her, waiting for her to say whatever was stopping her from leaving. Hermione swallowed, the words aching to get out. She looked back at him.

“Time is catching up to us, sir,” Hermione recited absentmindedly, sending him a small and tight smile. She shook her head. "And I don't have forever."

"Forever is a concept that we fickle humans have created to make mortality a far less daunting end." She stared at him. Dumbledore sighed and said, "Miss Granger, what I'm saying, _is that perhaps you don't need forever."_

 

 


	71. Chapter 71

** Chapter 71 **

**January 1980**

****

The doctor called for James at four o'clock in the morning.

Overnight, the Potters had fallen sick in their beds and a wizard doctor had been brought in to check on them as soon as possible. The result was not good news; he hadn't phoned James to inform him, he had phoned him to tell him that it was time to say goodbye.

They had all rushed over to the household as quickly as they could and they now stood outside the room, heads down, hearts unbelievably heavy, feeling that numbing sadness that rooted itself into their bones.

James and Sirius were sat at their parents' bedside, clutching their pulse-driven hands. They had been begging them to stay when they'd first arrived, but now they all sat in silence, eyes saying the things that voices could not. Their eyes whispered broken _thank you's_ and yelled strained begs and eventually settled on ragged _goodbyes_.

Hermione stood in the corridor, feeling Remus' warm body next to her. She felt grief, even though the Potters weren't actually dead yet, but there was mostly just a numbness that she knew came from the fact that she couldn't save them. Despite all of her knowledge and skill, Hermione could not save these people from a disease. No matter how much she wished they would live, some deaths just had to happen.

"I hate this," Peter said in a quiet and squeaky voice. It was enough to wobble down the hall. "I hate everyone dying. I hate death.” He was silent and then he said, louder, “What's the point in death?"

There was silence.

" _Life_ ," Remus said simply and it was one of those replies that struck you silent and made it so that you couldn't say anything more on the matter.

Sirius burst out of the room suddenly and he took off down the hallway. Remus' eyes stuck to him and he didn't hesitate in following, rushing in an attempt to catch him before he fell apart. James stood despondently, staring at the floor as though, if he willed it hard enough, the ground would open up and take him away from all this.

"She wants to talk to you," he said, and when nobody replied, he raised his eyes to her.

"Me?" Hermione asked. James nodded.

She felt her hands go clammy and stepped past James to enter the room. It looked so grand and yet, so dull, almost as if it knew its inhabitants were close to leaving it forever and it no longer felt capable of showing off its splendour.

Hermione walked as gently as she could to the bed. Charlus was asleep, life clinging to his blue lips, hair stuck to his sweaty skin. He didn't look like the bubbly man she remembered, but frail and old. She couldn’t tell whether he was closer to life, or death.

"Hermione," Dorea smiled. Her voice was straining to be strong and the smile was wobbly and pained but they both pretended they didn't notice. She held her hand out. "Come here, dear."

Hermione wasted no time in taking the older woman's hand, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. She stared up at her with tearful eyes.

"Dorea," she said. "I-"

Dorea shushed her, smoothing down her curls and said, "It's okay Hermione. It's alright." The young girl nodded, swallowing back a sob at how ill James' mother looked. Dorea continued to stroke her hair with one hand, holding Hermione's with the other. "They love you. And I love you too. You're such a strong girl, Hermione. Such a brave, strong girl. You're family now. We're your family. They're your family, and family protects each other. Family lives for one another."

Dorea spoke earnestly and slowly, her eyes steady. James had his mother's eyes.

Dorea inhaled sharply, eyes widening and Hermione watched in alarm. She leaned forward, trying to look for something she could use to help, to prevent what she knew was about to happen. She couldn't find a thing. The wand in her pocket was just a stick that felt like it was dragging her down.

"Look after him, Hermione," Dorea whispered. She squeezed her hand. "Don't let him die. Don't let either of them die. _Don't let the world burn..."_

Hermione recoiled, staring down at the older woman's face. _How did she know that?_ Dorea's eyes had flickered shut, her lips fell slightly open and Hermione knew that it was too late, but she refused to let the mother who had all but adopted her slip away. She refused to let James and Sirius suffer.

"No," she murmured. Dorea's hand was slack in hers, her fingers slipping from Hermione's grasp. Hermione felt panic, undulated panic, flare up inside of her. " _No!_ No, Dorea, please! _No!"_ She screamed again and again, squeezing the older woman's hand in hers. Hermione screamed, _"James! **James!"**_

In an instant, the door was swinging open and James rushed in, eyes wide, hair flying backwards from the speed of his movement. He was beside her in a heartbeat, leaning over his mother to check her pulse. He grappled for something to do, but there was nothing. His parents were dead.

Hermione wrenched herself backwards from the bed, watching in horror as James wailed, yelling and sobbing, collapsing on the floor. She managed to get to her feet and she stumbled away from the scene, wishing she could tear her eyes to look at anything else, but she couldn’t. There was so much pain on James’ face, in his body, that she found herself unable to stop staring at him. Hermione backed into something hard in the doorway and she spun around to come face-to-face with Remus. He looked sad and tall and he simply wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him and saying nothing at all. He just held her because it was all he could do; this was life and, unfortunately, life always ended in death.

**oOoOoOo**

When Hermione had felt her wand grow hot the following day, she had hesitated. It was only for a second, but the uncertainty was thick and ripe, coiling in her abdomen. Normally, she would have apparated immediately to wherever the magic pulled her but the prospect of it being Avery on the calling end made her freeze. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him, to check whether he was okay, whether he was still alive at all! It was just she didn’t think she could face him with Fabian and Gideon’s deaths so fresh in her mind.

For the first few weeks, Avery had attempted adamantly to get in touch with her but her lack of a response must have disheartened him. More likely, he finally realised she just wasn't worth the effort, for he stopped trying shortly after that. It was this logic that spurred her to give in. She let the magic take her wherever it wanted.

As soon as her feet made contact with solid ground, Hermione’s eyes scanned her surroundings. She had expected the grand Muggle living room, but was met instead with the dingy kitchenette they had used initially as a meeting place. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“I figured you didn’t want to risk running into Avery.”

She spun around. Regulus was sitting on the countertop. He looked much older than she remembered, his dark hair having grown out. There were crescent moons under his eyes.

“No,” Hermione replied, and she tried to drag her mind away from how tired he looked. “No, I- you’re right. I don’t.”

He jumped off, and came to stand in front of her, arms folded across his chest. Regulus said, “You can’t avoid him forever, you know.”

“I can,” Hermione said bitterly. “There’s no reason for me to run into him outside of our meetings. It’s perfectly doable-”

“What I _meant_ ,” he interrupted, voice quiet, eyes steady, “is that you can’t _live_ without him. Sure, you could avoid him- stepping out of his path is easy enough. But I’m not so sure you could really live a life that is completely, 100% Avery free. I’m not sure either of us could.”

She swallowed, looking away because he seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his reasoning, that Hermione’s entire counterargument was thrown off. She said, “Why did you call a meeting?”

Regulus’ face dropped then to that signature blank expression, the same one she had seen stretched across his brother’s face, time and time again. He said, “You told me to inform you if the Dark Lord acquainted himself with my household.” Her breath grew sharp and lethal in her throat. “He borrowed Kreacher.”

Hermione’s eyes almost closed for she knew what he was talking about before he had chance to say anything else. _The locket._

“He came last week,” Regulus continued quietly. “At first, I didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t unlike the Dark Lord to borrow his follower’s things. But then, Kreacher returned and he was… not quite the same. He was weak, for a start, and shaking, unable to do anything. I had to cover for him a lot so that my Mother wouldn’t beat him for his incompetence. And he kept muttering things in his sleep, or when he thought nobody was listening… Begging someone to stop, to let _him_ stop… Things about the dead.” He trailed off, staring but not seeing, the story chilling on his tongue. Hermione was so tense, it was a surprise she was still breathing.

“Regulus?” She pushed gently. His eyes refocused. The story melted.

“It took me so long to call you because I’ve only just managed to get it out of him. Kreacher told me… _everything_. He told me about a cave and a wall which only opened with blood... And a lake full of dead people, and a poisonous liquid and a _necklace_.”

Regulus stopped and he looked directly at her. “This is it, isn’t it? This is Slytherin’s Locket. This is his Horcrux.”

It was a few moments later when Hermione replied. She nodded, but it wasn’t like Regulus needed confirmation. He had already known- what else could it be?

“I’ll need to borrow Kreacher, if that’s alright,” she said suddenly, alert and punctual. “Just to locate the cave. I should be okay from then on-”

“You mean, _we_ ,” Regulus said. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide.

“ _No_. I mean _I.”_ She tightened her jaw at the way he exhaled, bracing herself for a disagreement. “I promised myself I’d keep you alive. I promised _you_ I’d keep you alive. I promised you I wouldn’t let them hurt you and I plan to keep that promise, Regulus. Even if it kills me!”

He let out a strangled and frustrated noise, gripping his hair. “You don’t get it!” He stressed, frantic. “You don’t understand Hermione! _You are no good to anyone if you are dead!_ You can save so many people and yet, you’re too busy taking the self-sacrificial route that you’re going to end up _killing them all instead!”_

Hermione watched him; watched his chest rise and fall, watched his dilate pupils lock on her, watched the desperation that she would understand pulse in his face. Regulus said, in a voice that was somehow shaking and steady at the same time, “ _You’re so much more, Hermione_. You’re so much more than everyone else. You’re someone who I’d follow into battle, someone who we’d _all_ follow into battle. We’d kill and be killed for you. And that’s not something that you see every day!” Regulus stared at her and the sincerity in his eyes and voice made her forget momentarily how young he was. He said seriously, “You told me once that you refused to let me fall… Well, _I_ refuse to let you fall.”

Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to laugh or cry or maybe both. It was so shocking to remember that even in a war as dark as this one, there were still beacons of light to scare off the monsters. She hoped that Regulus Black would continue to shine for a very long time coming.

“I’ll take you to him,” she said, smiling softly at him. Regulus’ face changed. “When we get the locket, I’ll take you to him and you can brothers again. I promise.”

He didn’t seem to know how to react, so after a second, he said, “Does this mean I’m coming?”

Hermione swallowed. She prayed she was making the right decision. Even so, she had a slight suspicion that if her answer was no, Regulus would still somehow tag along. “Yes,” she said, stomach tightening when he grinned.

"What about Avery?" He asked.

Hermione paused. "No.” she said. The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “We'll be fine on our own."

Regulus nodded. He acted electrified, as though his blood was buzzing in his veins and part of her wished he wouldn’t act so excited because this trip had been what had killed Dumbledore in her time. He was the greatest wizard of all time! Who were they? Two schoolchildren, fresh-faced and clumsy. What chance did they have?

“What if it goes wrong?” Hermione asked in a small voice. She hated how weak and unsure she sounded, especially when it was Regulus. “What if we both die? What if we _both_ fall?

But he just offered her a smile and with a tilt of his shoulders, said, _“I won’t accept that.”_

**oOoOoOo**

She sat in the kitchen at Headquarters that evening, fingers twirling around the straw in her can of alcohol. Hermione wasn't a drinker- in fact, she hated the burn of liquor down her throat- but there was something numbing about it, something that almost made it easy to cope.

The house was silent. Caradoc had gone to bed hours ago. Marlene, who had been lodging here for the time being, was always out, warming a different stranger's bed each night. Hermione knew she should probably sleep, but her eyes ached with clarity and the tang of consciousness was sharp.

The door banged open abruptly and she started, jumping to her feet, eyes flicking to the kitchen archway. The footsteps were loud and uneven down the hall and the ragged breathing was instantly recognisable. Remus stopped in front of her. He looked like he'd been crying, his pale skin pink and blotchy. His eyelashes were congealed, and he was feeble enough that she feared he might be picked up by the draught and carried away.

Hermione stared at him. He didn't move any closer, simply stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on the floor but he didn't look like he was taking anything in.

"Remus-?" She began, stepping forwards. He cut her off.

"Dumbledore wants me to go undercover into a werewolf den."

Hermione's heart stopped in her chest and her entire body went cold. "What?" She whispered.

Remus finally dragged his eyes to her and it looked to pain him. He said very calmly, "I've been asked to spy on a werewolf den rumoured to be affiliated with Voldemort."

"Well you're not going!" Hermione exclaimed, eyebrows raised, voice high from her desperate plea. Remus didn't say anything and she faltered, saying quietly, "Remus, please tell me you're not considering this."

He didn't reply, just looked at her and she felt panic flare up, threatening to consume her.

" _Remus_ -" Hermione began, before she stopped and moved to stand in front of him. She held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin, clutching at his clothes as if anything less would result in her being ripped away from him. Or him, her.

"You can't do this," she whispered, face close to his so that her lips were brushing his skin each time she spoke. "Remus,  _please_. I can't let you do this-"

He closed his eyes fleetingly, swaying under her touch, before he moved away. Hermione stood still, watching him.

"You don't have a choice," Remus told her. "He asked me. Not you."

She swallowed, eyes flashing. "But your decision affects me as well! If anything happens to you, I'll-"

"Be driven  _mad_  with worry?" Remus suggested, and anger crept into his voice. His cheeks regained a bit of colour. "Feel  _sick_  with fear? Won't be able to even close your eyes because you're that  _fucking_   _scared_  I won't come back?!"

Hermione forced herself to keep looking at him, even though she knew what he was getting at. There was no point defending herself- he was right.

Remus continued, and his veins and scars pulsed, "Because that's how I feel every time you go!"

She closed her eyes because she knew how much it hurt him when she left. She knew that it killed him to watch her leave with the chance that she might never come back. But Hermione had gone one step worse- she hadn't told him where it was exactly she was going. She remembered when she had gotten back from the hunt with Avery- Hermione hadn't spoken to him for ages after because he'd had the nerve to demand and question her. Now she realised how irrational she had been. He had just been worried about her because he loved her.

Remus heaved himself over to a chair, dropping into it and covering his face with his hands. It was just silent and it threatened to press down on them, force them apart.

"I can't do it anymore," he said finally. His voice was barely a fracture on the air. Hermione looked at him through wide eyes, alarmed.

"Don't say that," she pleaded, moving towards him, kneeling in front of him and holding his hands in her trembling ones. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

But Remus was shocked and numb. It appeared he couldn't believe what he had just said either and yet, he didn't try to take it back. He didn't grapple for the words he couldn't mean.

" _Remus_ ," Hermione sobbed, his name catching in her throat and she dropped her forehead onto their clasped hands. She'd never felt this desperate, as though her lifeline was being gently but irrefutably tugged away from her. "Please don't do this..."

“Don’t you see, Hermione?” asked Remus helplessly. “I have to! You _fight_ and you throw yourself into every dangerous thing that comes your way! And all I can do is watch and hope and _pray to God_ that I’m enough for you to try and stay alive-!”

Hermione recoiled. She said heatedly, "That's exactly what Sirius does! He fights! He’s reckless and brash! And you don't push him away!"

"That's because _he_ _doesn't mean it!"_ Remus stressed, and his voice broke from the strain. Maybe even from the heartbreak.

He swallowed, and they stared at each other in silence, before Remus sighed and said tiredly but assuredly, "If it came down to it, Sirius would _fight_ to get back to me... I'm not sure you would."

Hermione stared at him, too shocked to speak. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was delusional, but she couldn't.

Because Remus was right.

Hermione didn't care whether she lived or died. In fact, she was fully prepared to throw herself in front of any curse- _if it saved them._ She forgot that if that's what it took to save them, she'd also be destroying them in the process. Gladly. Happily. Without ever looking back.

“I want to grow old,” he said quietly, murmuring the words to her as though he had stolen them from some untouchable, some forbidden dream. “Maybe not have children. You know… just in case. But I want to fall in love and get married. I want to be happy and I want to live.”

Hermione dropped her head onto their clasped hands once more. Her tears dripped onto his knuckles.

Remus closed his eyes, and he wished they could somehow go back to the start, where there was nothing love couldn’t conquer.

He whispered, _“And you don’t.”_

She felt him move his hands out of hers so that he could cup her cheek and tilt her face up to look at him. Remus was crying too, silent tears which burnt as they fell on her skin. "I love you," he told her.

 _"Then don't do this!"_  Hermione begged. "Remus, _please!"_

“Then tell me you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Tell me you’ll live for me, Hermione.” He stared at her expectantly, and she knew he was waiting, holding out for her to say the words, that he hadn’t closed the door on her, on _them_ , just yet… but the gold in his eyes became a little duller with the silence of each passing second. His face crumpled. He shook his head. "I'm sorry.  _I'm so sorry."_

Hermione heard the resolute dejection in his voice, and refused to stop the sobs from leaving her lips. She buried her head into his lap and he pressed a wet and lingering kiss to her head. He was so warm and she felt his shaking hands stroke her hair, and all she could think was that it was like another Big Bang. They were part of the same star and, not for the first time, they were being forced apart. Hermione hoped her atoms would find his before everything ended. She knew they would;  _they had to._

 


	72. Chapter 72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I need to reiterate: please stick with this fic. As much as you are going to hate what happens, things have to get dark but I do have a plan for it and I do plan on finishing it. Please trust me. I love you all.
> 
> Warning: I am putting this here because I genuinely felt unnerved writing this. I may be over-exaggerating but this is a trigger warning, just so I can say I did warn you. I’m sorry for the delay. I’ve been procrastinating writing this. You’ll see why.
> 
> This is easily the darkest chapter I’ve ever written.
> 
>  

 

** Chapter 72 **

**February 1980**

 

When she felt her wand burning, it seemed hotter than she remembered. Although the magic was safe (she should know- she’d applied it herself), the wood felt to scorch her skin, even through her clothes. Hermione immediately gathered all the things she would need, which happened to be not a lot; her wand, her extendable bag, one of the Horcrux-proof boxes. She swallowed, eyes catching on the dandelion in her top drawer-

_He held her hand tighter and murmured, “Why don’t you use your wish?”_

_“Because I’m saving it,” Hermione replied. “For something important, like the end of the world or homework help-”_

She slammed the drawer shut and left the room. The corridor of Headquarters was eerily quiet, and every footstep seemed to scream. It was as though the house was warning her, or trying to wake someone up. It was like the house was trying to give her away.

She paused, briefly entertaining the idea of waking Caradoc up. _No_. He'd most likely flip at the idea of her being in contact with Death Eaters- she couldn’t risk that, it had taken her long enough to gain his trust in the first place and she couldn’t let it shatter now. Her mind drifted to Remus, eyes finding the door to his bedroom, and her heart felt to thump a little harder. Her footsteps faltered. She should tell him where she was going-

No. It wasn't his concern anymore. _She_ wasn't his concern anymore.

Hermione shook her head, eyes shooting away from the door she knew he was behind, and carried on walking. Within seconds, she was standing outside Headquarters, inhaling the sharpness of the winter wind. Hermione was almost shocked; she had expected more resistance.

Before she could once more linger on the prospect of waking someone, she apparated away.

The kitchenette was a grey and dull welcoming sight, and Hermione was relieved to find Regulus already there, waiting for her. He jumped up when he saw her, eyes lighting up.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he grinned. Realisation flashed across his face and he added, “Oh, before I forget. Hermione, this is Kreacher. Kreacher, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

She barely had time to look down, when the House Elf launched itself at her feet, grovelling and pressing its forehead against her shoes. Alarmed, Hermione watched him, lips forming words that never left her mouth.

“Mistress!” Kreacher wailed. “I have heard much about you! Master Regulus tells Kreacher lots about you. So kind, Mistress, so loving and nice to Master Regulus-!”

Regulus coughed. He shot her a bashful look and said hastily, “That’s enough, Kreacher. Remember what I told you? You don’t have to grovel when we’re outside the Manor. You don’t have to grovel for me, nor for Hermione.”

Kreacher wiped his nose along his bony arm, sniffing loudly. Hermione could only stare at him, eyes widening when she noticed how violently the House Elf was trembling. Regulus seemed to follow her line of thought.

“This is how he came back,” he told her quietly, so that the snivelling Elf could not hear. “I don’t know what he saw, but I’m willing to bet it’s terrifying…” Regulus licked his lips, as if considering something. He kept his gaze firmly on the floor, but said, “Hermione, are you sure we shouldn’t invite someone along? I know Avery wouldn’t-”

“No,” she said. Her voice was firm. Hermione swallowed. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got Kreacher to show us the way.”

She crouched down, softening her voice, and ignoring the way Regulus’ eyes burnt her. “Can you do that, Kreacher? Can you get us both in and out safely?”

Kreacher stilled from behind his arm, lifting his ugly head up just enough so that he could peer at her. He nodded slowly.

Hermione stood up and looked at Regulus. He was staring straight back at her. She said, “Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s go get a Horcrux.”

**oOoOoOo**

Kreacher had wasted no time in gripping both of their wrists tightly and apparating them to where they needed to be. The first thing Hermione felt was a ferocious wind, whipping at her hair and threatening to tear her skin from her bones. The sound of the sea crashing against the rock consumed her from all directions, encompassing, and she squinted, eyes flicking around her. Her body wavered slightly.

They were stood on top of a giant rock, trapped in the middle of the sea. Dark, murky water surrounded them, trapping them on this makeshift island, and Hermione narrowed her eyes even more to try and see if she could differentiate sky from distant land from sea, but there was nothing. The further away she looked, the more sky and sea seemed to blend together. It was like a prison; no way in, no way out.

Regulus was still there beside her, and she could feel the warmth of him thrum through the few inches between them. Hermione wished she could send him back home. This was not what she had been expecting and she didn’t know whether she felt completely comfortable with having him here; maybe they should’ve brought someone else along…

Kreacher grabbed for their arms again, pulling them down the side of the rock and onto a thin, winding ledge that led them down towards the sea. Hermione kept her eyes on her feet, making sure she didn’t accidentally step on any loose rock or algae that would hinder her stability. They moved quickly, trying and only just succeeding in keeping up with Kreacher’s haste and Hermione felt the relief rush over her when she was enveloped in the silence of the cave.

It was odd how, once they stumbled into the opening of the cavern, the outside world ceased to exist. They could no longer feel the stabbing wind, nor hear the roar of the waves attacking the rock. It was almost like they had stepped through into an entirely different place, somewhere far away from where they had just been.

Hermione swallowed. Regulus let out a low whistle. Kreacher barely gave them time to look around for he started scuttling, moving from one wall to the next, hands probing, ears spiked. The cave entrance was incredibly tall, so tall they couldn’t see the ceiling, and it was strange to think that this was simply the inside of the small rock they had been standing on not seconds ago. _Magic_ , Hermione thought. _It must be._

They let Kreacher search for whatever it was he was looking for, and she finally brought herself to look at Regulus. He had his neck craned back as he stared up at the ceiling, awe playing across his young face.

“This isn’t going to be easy, you know,” Hermione told him.

He brought his eyes to land on her. “I know.”

“Then how are you so calm?” She asked him, frustration tinging her voice. She was a mess! A frazzled vessel packed full of burst nerves and broken arteries. Yet here he was, admiring the view as if they were sightseeing!

“I’m not scared of dying, Hermione,” he said. She looked at him, her burst nerves and broken arteries shushing themselves. It was so difficult to see him as the young man he stood before her as. For Regulus Black had grown up- he was no longer the scrawny shadow of a boy, with the downcast dark eyes and pale skin. He had grown and now towered above both her and Avery, and there was a poise to his leanness, and a maturity to every word he spoke.

Hermione swallowed and looked away. Even if he didn’t look it, he was still young. He had still barely lived.

She frowned. “You should be.”

“But I’m not,” Regulus told her and there was nothing in his voice to suggest he was lying. He said it so simply. “You know why?”

Hermione’s eyes scanned their surroundings, chewing on her lip as she tried to avoid taking the bait. She didn’t know why. She didn’t want to. And yet, she sighed and said quietly, “Why?”

“Because there are things worse than death. And I know that I’ll have died doing something good, for someone greater. You see?”

“I’m not worth dying for,” she murmured slowly.

Regulus didn’t even hesitate. “You are to me.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him (the honesty in his voice was brutal and too overwhelming for her to summon up a reply), and was therefore relieved when Kreacher jumped into action, rushing back to them and coaxing them forward.

“Come!” He rasped. “Follow Kreacher!”

They both obeyed, frowning as they were lead deeper into the cave, as the shadows swallowed them whole. Kreacher stopped in front of an obdurate wall of dark stone. He spun on his heel and looked at them both expectantly.

“Blood,” he said, holding his hand up and wiggling it for emphasis. “The Dark Lord used blood to move the wall. Kreacher would do it but Kreacher’s blood does not work. It needs Wizard blood.”

Hermione lifted up her hand, reaching for her wand when she heard a pained hiss. Her eyes darted to Regulus, and she inhaled sharply when she saw the thin streak of blood pooling in his palm. Kreacher wailed slightly at the sight of his Master’s blood, but nevertheless, took his hand and pressed it against the rock. The effect was instantaneous. The rock shifted slightly, and through the velvety darkness, they noticed a door begin to take shape.

Hermione shot Regulus a look, and he met her gaze guiltily as he healed the wound. “It’s just a bit of blood, Mione.”

He tore off part of his sleeve and wrapped it around his hand for good measure. She bit her tongue, holding back the scathing remark she longed to release. Perhaps it was for the best he had done this part. It would make it easier for _her_ to do the next.

Kreacher pushed the door open and led the way inside. What they saw made their eyes widen and their jaws drop. Whilst the last cave had been high, this cave was wide. The rocks shimmered, the reflection of the water dancing across them, and there was a hidden light source that shone green, illuminating every step for them as they progressed deeper into the hollow.

" _Woah_ ," Regulus exhaled and his breath echoed around the cavern, bouncing off rocks and rippling across the water. Hermione shuddered. "This is creepy."

At this, she raised an eyebrow, amused despite herself. "What, did you expect Voldemort to hide his soul in a lovely place with flowers and baby animals?"

Regulus laughed, his eyes shining as he looked at her. "No," he said. "Maybe somewhere a bit less stereotypical."

He ventured forward, kicking a rock away. There was no heaviness to him, no weight on his shoulders, no fear crippling him. Hermione couldn't bear to imagine the first time round; where a young boy, alive only on the thrum of terror, had to come here alone and surrender himself to the dark depths of the lake that simmered before them both now.

She was relieved she had let him come with her. Hermione didn't think she would've been able to stand this place alone.

Kreacher scurried over to the boat, reaching immediately for the ghastly chains looped through the back of it. The metal clanged loudly, echoing around the cavern’s walls, and plopping into the water. Hermione’s head darted to the lake. The ripples stretched outwards, but there was nothing to suggest there was anything lurking in there. It was a good job she knew better.

Keeping her eyes on the water, she edged closer to Regulus and Kreacher, who had managed to completely unravel the boat by now. Hermione eyed it warily. “This doesn’t look stable enough to carry us both across at once. Maybe we should take two trips.”

It wasn’t really a suggestion, more of an order, but Regulus nodded anyway. He held out an arm, raising his eyebrows and said, “Ladies first.”

Hermione sent him a scowl and murmured, “ _Bastard_.”

Nevertheless, she gingerly climbed into the boat. It teetered under her feet, and she gripped onto the sides. Kreacher clambered aboard too, but he kept to the opposite side, curled up in a little ball; he was going to have to take her over then go back for Regulus. There was a moment of stillness, and Hermione frowned, sending Regulus a questioning glance (which he responded with a frown of his own) before the boat jutted into movement, surging forwards and gliding across the surface of the lake. Hermione could feel every wave and indentation in the water beneath her, almost as though there was no boat separating her from drowning. This thought had her gripping the sides tighter, until her knuckles turned white, and she watched as Regulus became a black shadow in the distance.

She jumped out as soon as it bumped into the little island in the middle of the lake, turning to see if her eyes could find Regulus, but there was nothing but darkness. Kreacher directed the boat back and his large, white eyes remained fixated on her until he, too, was engulfed in the monstrous blackness. Hermione slipped her wand out of her pocket, mind lingering on the surprising steadiness of her hand, and she whispered, “ _Lumos_ ,”, relishing in the light that procured.

The swooshing sound of the boat groping its way closer made her stomach flip, but when she finally saw Regulus’ familiar face, she breathed out. He hopped out of the boat, coming towards her. His hands reached for her and Hermione nodded, letting him know she was okay. She only had to search his dark eyes to know it was the same for him.

There was fear there, but they both knew that fear was manageable. They could survive fear.

Hermione held her wand up, eyes scanning every visible inch of the island. It was small, barely three metres in diameter, and uneven underfoot. They moved together, slowly and cautiously, closer to the stone sink. She knew what it was, and the dark, emerald liquid swirled deceptively. They could both see the locket, mocking them from beneath its surface.

Regulus’ eyes widened and he reached for it, hand outstretched, fingers widening-

He never got further than that. The liquid acted like glass, preventing him from slipping his hand in and taking the locket. He let out a discouraged noise and Hermione looked at him.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” She asked. Regulus didn’t look at her. He set his jaw, taking out his wand and pointing it at the potion.

“ _Evanesco!”_

This did nothing. If anything, the potion appeared to hiss under his attempt to vanish it. He gritted his teeth and Hermione rested her hand against his, stilling him. Regulus finally looked at her.

“You can’t cheat it,” she told him. His face was a blank slate. “Voldemort would never let that happen.”

He deflated in her grasp, and she realised he had known this all along. He pocketed his wand and they both stared down at the potion. Regulus grimaced. “We’re going to have to drink it, aren’t we?”

Kreacher started wailing suddenly, holding his bat-like ears and banging his head against the side of the basin. It caused the island to shudder, and Hermione’s eyes shot to the lake, checking for any sign of movement. Even the walls seemed to resonate. Regulus fell to his knees, grabbing Kreacher’s small body in an attempt to stop him.

“Kreacher- _Kreacher_! I forbid you to hurt yourself! Please!” At the break in his Master’s voice, Kreacher trembled. Regulus let out a sigh of relief and said in a gentle voice, “Now, tell me. What’s the matter? What caused this?”

Hermione watched them, struck with how kind Regulus was with Kreacher. She remembered that Kreacher had always spoke highly of his Master Regulus, but it was something else to see such tenderness first-hand. It was no wonder Kreacher had decomposed the way he did after Regulus’-

 _No_.

_Don’t think about that._

Kreacher started moaning, rolling his ears in his hands and leaning against Regulus’s arms. If she hadn’t known any better, Hermione would’ve guessed he was delirious.

“Bad things…” he mumbled. “Such very bad things… Kreacher saw... The potion made Kreacher see horrible, _terrible_ things…”

Regulus and Hermione shared a glance.

“Like what, Kreacher?” Regulus asked, softly but urgently. “What did you see?”

There was a moment of silence, where the House Elf gargled, frothing at the mouth as he tried to force the words out to appease his Master. “ _Monsters_.”

Hermione’s breath came out as a rush of air, and Kreacher eventually subsided into silence, murmuring every so often to himself. Regulus straightened up once he was sure his House Elf was okay, and they both stared at the potion, apprehension coiling in their gut.

“I’ll drink it,” Hermione said. Her voice was empty, and she reached for the little shell cup, but Regulus snatched it up.

“ _No_ ,” he said forcefully, almost laughing at the suggestion. “There’s no way you’re drinking a drop of this, Hermione.”

Her eyes flashed and she tried to grab it off of him but he merely held it out of her reach.

“I’ll drink it,” Regulus told her.

“NO!” Kreacher howled, and he lifted his arm up in the air. “Kreacher will drink! Master, no! Kreacher will-”

“Kreacher will _not_ drink,” Regulus said. “You are far too weak. Rest. You’ll need to get us out of here.”

The House Elf acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Hermione took this opportunity to summon the shell cup into her waiting hand. Regulus’ eyes landed on her reproachfully and he shook his head, unhappy with this predicament.

“You bled,” she told him. “You bled. Therefore, I drink. That’s fair.”

“ _Fair!_?” Regulus repeated incredulously. “Mione! How is that fair? For all we know, this could kill you! I only endured a little scratch! Which is healed now! Look!”

He wrenched the material from around his hand to reveal smooth, untouched skin. Hermione barely looked at it. He was breathing heavily and screwed his eyes shut before trying again. “This is a poison. It made Kreacher see _monsters_ , Hermione. Imagine what it would do to you!”

Hermione tore her eyes away from his desperate face and stared down at the potion. Through the emerald, she could see her face reflected back at her; a ghostly wedge of stricken terror.

“Hermione, _please_ ,” Regulus begged. “Let me drink it!”

She didn’t reply, only swallowed and said in a quiet voice, “Regulus?”

“Yes?!”

 _“Don’t let me go too close to the water,”_ she whispered and in a second, she had filled up the cup with the potion and tipped it into her mouth.

The liquid was both boiling and freezing at the same time, and she felt it trickle down her throat, felt the way it seemed to burn her tissues like acid might. It was agonising, and Hermione prayed for it to be over, but the burn continued, setting her entire being on fire.

Her hand was shaking vigorously, so fast it almost blurred, as she reached for a second mouthful. Regulus’ hand stopped her and she forced herself to look at him. Everything was muzzy, except for his face, which had never been so clear, peering down at her with undulated worry etched across it.

“Hermione,” he said, and she had to read his lips to understand what he was saying, for the sound took a few extra seconds to register. “Are you sure?”

Hermione nodded, and Regulus’ chest fell. His eyes closed for a fraction of a moment before he guided her hand to fill the cup up with more of the potion and then fed her it. His fingers on her skin kept her grounded, cooling her as her body heated up.

This mouthful was so much worse than the last, more painful and excruciating than she could even explain. She was barely aware of her surroundings, but she could hear a scream piercing the air. Was that her? It didn’t sound like her.

Regulus helped her drink the potion, steadying her when her arm shook too violently for her to accomplish it. Hermione gripped at his chest suddenly, and he froze, staring down at her. She brought her lips close to him and whispered, “ _Regulus, don’t let me stop.”_

And he nodded, pale and stricken.

He stayed true to his word. He didn’t let her stop as she screamed and begged him to, as she cried and sobbed and refused to drink another drop. He didn’t let her stop until he was scraping the very last mouthful from the basin and forcing it down her throat.

When there was no more potion, Regulus gathered her to him, securing her in his arms. She clutched onto him for dear life, body racked with shudders, and he stared down at the locket. It disgusted him; this piece of jewellery and its price. He wanted to throw it into the lake and watch it sink, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he reached into Hermione’s bag and found the box, scooping up the necklace and dropping it inside. The lid clicked shut and he let it fall back into the bag.

Hermione was whimpering against him, shivering, and he rested his head against hers, wanting to reach up and wipe away the tears that had wet his cheeks from watching her struggle, but not finding any residue strength to do so. “God, Hermione,” Regulus murmured, voice breaking. “ _God_.”

Hermione started gagging, and she broke free of his embrace, choking out, “ _Water_ ,” over and over again. She collapsed on the rock floor, dragging herself to the edge of the lake. Then, she froze.

His dark hair billowed out, longer than she remembered. His skin looked waxy and pallid, flickering green under the water. His eyes were the same colour as the murky depths surrounding him.

“ _Harry_ ,” she gasped.

He simply stared at her, unmoving, and Hermione knew she had to get him out before he drowned. She pulled herself closer to him, reaching out. She was so close, _so close now_ , she could almost touch him-

Regulus rubbed his hand down his face, before her voice echoed though his mind:

_“Don’t let me go too close to the water.”_

He slowly turned around, eyes seeking her out. She was so close to the water. _Too close_. He started walking towards her, slowly, careful not to slip or scare her. She looked to be enraptured by something, reaching for the darkness.

Kreacher ran forward, grabbing his arm and tried to tug him back to the basin. “No! Master Regulus must _not_ go near the water!”

Regulus frowned, tearing his eyes away from Hermione for a moment. “What are you talking about? Why?”

Kreacher’s white, fleshy face went whiter, if that was possible, and he looked more frightened than Regulus had ever seen him look. He leaned forward and rattled, “ _Monsters_!”

Regulus’ head shot back to Hermione. Her fingers were outstretched, skimming the surface of the lake, and he could just make out something white lurking beneath it. He raced towards her, yelling her name.

“HERMIONE! GET AWAY FROM THE WATER! HERMIONE-”

His arm slipped around her waist, wrenching her back, as the first monster leapt from the water. Its clawed fist closed inches from her face and Regulus stumbled backwards. Hermione screamed as Harry’s face completely disappeared from view and was replaced instead by a snarling, gaunt skeleton that tried to rip her skin off.

They both tripped backwards until they were back at the basin, eyes shooting all around them to see hands groping from the darkness, followed by thin, deformed bodies emerging from the water. They were surrounded. The monsters congregated, like a mass of tangled limbs and withered torsos, surging forwards, coming closer and closer.

Regulus yelled as something caught his ankle, dragging him down. His grip on Hermione slipped and they were upon him, reaching and tearing and clutching onto anything they could. He could feel hot blood spill and their sharp claws digging deeper into his flesh and all he could think was ‘ _What a heroic way to go.’_

This was a death fit for Peter Pan.

_“Incendio!”_

The heat from the fire licked his skin and it was a sick relief _._ The creatures that had converged on him shrieked and fled, escaping back into their watery refuge, where the fire could not reach them. Regulus dared to look up, through the dirt and blood that marred his vision. He almost forgot how to breathe.

Hermione stood tall, no longer the frail, poisoned girl she had been a few minutes ago but a messiah. Fire swirled around her head, blazing in her eyes, and she swooped her wand down to scorch any remaining Inferi. It was almost like she had a crimson Phoenix at her command, sweltering and unmerciful. It was terrifying… And yet, he couldn’t rip his eyes away.

She kept the fire at the tip of her wand, racing to check if he was alright. He waved her away, trying not to let his wince show.

“We need to go,” Hermione told him urgently, and she gave Kreacher her wand to lead the way back to the boat, hooking one of Regulus’ arms over her shoulder so she could help him move.

It took a lot of effort, and he heaved against her, vaguely marvelling at the strength compiled into such a small person. She managed to get him in the boat, jumping over him and sitting opposite. Kreacher held the wand like a torch between them.

The boat did not move.

"Why's it not working?" Hermione asked frantically, the panic working its way up into her voice. She tried to fight it down but it consumed her.

Regulus twisted round, peering over the side to see if there was some sort of tether tying them to the rock. By the way he slumped back into the boat, she guessed there wasn't. The boat was simply refusing to take them over.

She stared at him, the hope fading from her face as a complete and utter loss for what to do overtook her. "How do we get back across?"

"We don't," Regulus said.

Hermione's heart stopped. "What?"

"I think we die here."

There was a moment of silence where Hermione counted how many times her heart beat against her ribcage, and the fact that the number was one she could count on one hand startled her into action. She shook her head, determination swelling inside of her, replacing the debilitating fear.

“No,” she said firmly. “No. That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let that happen-”

“Hermione,” Regulus said. His voice was quiet and his eyes were desperate, as if he were pleading with her to stop all the hopeful throwaway promises. She stopped speaking, and deflated. His skin was covered in scratched, some of which were still bleeding, and he was wet from the slime of the Inferi. But he was _alive._

“I can’t let you fall,” Hermione said brokenly, the sudden realisation and absolute loss for what to do drying on her face.

Regulus stared at her for a very long time and it seemed that with each passing second, he grew a little bit calmer. His eyes were clear and steady and dark, like his brother’s always were, and he looked so much older than his tender eighteen years. Hermione wondered where his youth had gone. He stared at her, sadness still on his pink cheeks, and said earnestly, “And I can’t let you die.”

And he stepped off the boat. Immediately, it sprang into life, sailing away from the rock. The water lapped against the wood as she was carried away and Hermione stared in horror. She started screaming, grappling for something, _anything_ , that would give her control of the boat so that she could turn it around and go back for him. There was nothing.

She saw them before he did; the white bodies writhing beneath the water, hoisting themselves up onto the land. They were deformed and misshapen, resembling anything but the humans she knew they once had been. There were more of them this time, and she snatched her wand off Kreacher, who was bawling and sobbing. She tried to summon the fire but it wouldn’t stretch that far. She tried to shoot it out at them, but the tip of her wand simply sparked and fizzled out.

The rock was covered in them within seconds, and Hermione was forced to watch, horror crawling up her throat and planting itself in her body,

“ _REGULUS_!” She screamed, clutching the side of the boat so tightly she could feel the splinters in her hands.

He knew they were coming and yet, he just stared at her, his lips curling into a small and crooked smile. He stared at her as the Inferi tore at him, shredded him, dragged him to the ground and down into the water. One minute he was there, the next minute he was a base to a pyramid of monsters, each ravaging his flesh, gorging his life out of his body. His screams echoed around the cavern, drowning out her own.

And then there was silence.

Perhaps he and Peter Pan had a lot more in common than what Hermione had first realised. The line echoed through her, terrible and unyielding:

_All children, except one, grow up._

 


	73. Chapter 73- The Comet's Explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So I know a lot of you are angry with the events of the last chapter and some of you don’t think Regulus’ death was completely justified. There were suggestions that Kreacher could’ve apparated them all out of the cave, but I wondered whether that was even possible for it seems odd that Regulus didn’t do that the first time round. That got me thinking: despite House Elf magic far surpassing regular magic, maybe it is compromised if the House Elf is weak? Kreacher was very weak in his powers in this chapter because of his fear of the place and the aftereffects of the potion (remember Dumbledore?) so even if he had tried to apparate them both out of there, I highly doubt it would have worked.
> 
> The last chapter was so heartbreaking to write that I considered changing THE ENTIRE PLOT just so Regulus could live.
> 
> But overall, I did intend for Regulus to die.

 

** Chapter 73- The Comet’s Explosion  **

**February 1980**

Everything was fractured after that.

Hermione made it to the other side, only vaguely aware of Kreacher bawling by her legs. The darkness of the rock was deceptive, and she had to hold her hands out, feeling her way through the shadows, in order to find the door. She looked back only once.

The lake was shimmering green, the boat lay dormant, the island in the middle of the water was empty. Everything was silent. It was as though Regulus had never existed at all.

Did you? If you didn’t even have a body to prove it; did you truly live? If a tree falls in the forest, but no one is there to hear it; does it still make a sound?

She pushed herself out of the cavern, tripping over stray stones, glancing back when she could no longer hear Kreacher’s howls. Hermione swallowed and the inside of her throat screamed in protest.

“Kreacher!” She tried to shout, but it came out as a strangled whisper. “ _Kreacher!_ We need to go!”

The House Elf raised his large and doleful eyes to her and they seemed to clear as he took in her grief-stricken face and the tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her cheeks. He raised himself up to his full height and inhaled a shuddering breath, before he said, “Master Regulus’ orders.”

He started walking away from her and Hermione watched him in bewilderment. She managed to utter, “What?”

Kreacher turned around and stared at her for a moment before he said, _“’Keep Hermione safe, Kreacher.’_ Kreacher must obey Master Regulus’ orders. Come, Miss. Let Kreacher keep Miss safe for Master Regulus.”

Hermione felt something lodge in her throat, something thick and bitter-tasting, and she screwed her eyes shut to clear them of tears. She followed the House Elf back through the cave, stepping lightly because she feared the rocks would pop her like a balloon if she didn’t. Just ahead of her, Kreacher stopped at the opening, his wide eyes finding something. Hermione frowned, but the world was blurry and she had no idea what he was looking at. He switched his glance to her, running over and touching her knee.

“Miss is safe now,” he murmured to her. Hermione felt delirious- everything was spinning. She tried to stay stood, but Kreacher was coaxing her down onto the floor.

“Kreacher, _wha-?”_

“Shh.” Her eyes travelled past him and she felt her stomach clench in fear when she saw a shadow getting closer. _Oh God. Oh no_. “Miss is safe now. Master Regulus would be happy.”

She tried to scramble away as the figure loomed closer, but her hands found the edges of rocks and became slippery with hot blood and the wetness of the cave. Hermione kicked her legs out, trying to scream but all that came out was a broken mewl. The person pressed the tip of their wand to her head-

And darkness enveloped her.

**oOoOoOo**

She woke up in a bed.

It was soft and warm and the covers were pulled all the way up to her chin. She had been tucked in.

Hermione gingerly sat up, groaning as her head pounded and her vision swam. The room she was laid in was not like one she had ever seen; it was lavish and indulgent with everything the colour emerald. Hermione felt the bile force its way up her throat and she leaned over the bed, vomiting onto the floor. The carpets looked new.

Dazed, she pushed herself back up, shakily moving her feet around to the side so that she could stand. She tested her strength. Although she was quivering, she could move. That was something, at least.

Hermione stood up, gripping the headboard tightly. She screwed her eyes shut once more, if only to blink away the black spots impairing her vision. It worked. She could see clearly now. The room was still emerald.

_Just like the cave where Regulus-_

Hermione launched into action, propelling herself out of the room and down the hallway, towards the only light she could find. Her palms started to sweat and she felt each breath stick in her throat.

The person who had saved her (for she noticed now that, whilst still weak, her wounds had been healed) was sitting in this room.

Hermione braced herself, inhaling deeply before she stepped into the room. Her shoulders sagged in relief, and she felt her heart slow back to normal.

"I shouldn't be surprised," she remarked dryly. "Slytherin colours from a snake."

Avery sat in the armchair by the fire, fingers playing with the locket. Hermione’s face drained of colour, and then she felt a deep and vehement coil of fury at the sight of it. She wanted to rip it out of his hands and throw it in the fire and listen to it scream. His eyes lazily flicked to her. "It seemed fitting."

She remained silent, recognising the tone of his voice as one not to be trifled with. He stared at her and the underlying fire in his blank gaze scared her.

"Avery," Hermione began in a small and broken voice. She closed her eyes-

_He stared at her as the Inferi tore at him, shredded him, dragged him to the ground and down into the water. One minute he was there, the next minute he was a base to a pyramid of monsters, each ravaging his flesh, gorging his life out of his body. His screams echoed around the cavern, drowning out her own-_

"What?" He asked coldly. She looked at him.

"I-"

"Was too stubborn to call me?" Avery interrupted and the anger in his eyes diffused into his voice. "Was too caught up in playing the game to realise how stupid it was to go alone into Voldemort's cave?"

Hermione swallowed.

"Well guess what, Granger. I've been playing the game too. And yet if I'd have been there..." He broke off, clenching his jaw and she wondered whether he was about to cry. "He _wouldn't_ have died."

Her face crumpled and she shook her head, matted hair flying around. “You don’t know that.”

Avery stood up quickly and strode towards her. She could see the rage on the tip of his tongue, bubbling over and despite herself, Hermione flinched away from him. He paused, shoulders falling and instead pulled her to him, hugging her close and tight. She couldn’t take it anymore. The fact that Regulus Black was no longer on the planet hurt her, _killed_ her, and she clutched onto Avery, sobbing so hard she forgot how to breathe. Avery held her back tighter.

“He told me, you know,” Avery murmured. “He told me where you were going. He told me you didn’t want me there. So we created a system. He’d send me a message to let me know if you were alright or if you needed help; my wand would light up. Green for good, white for… not so good-”

“It lit up white,” Hermione whispered in realisation, craning back her neck so that she could look up at him. He was crying, silently, as if he hadn’t wanted her to see. Avery twisted his face away and nodded.

“That’s how I knew to get you.” She lowered her eyes, letting Avery’s hand on the back of her head guide her back into him. Hermione just stood there, numb, resting her forehead on his chest, counting his heartbeat. “He was keeping you alive even when he wasn’t there to do it himself.”

She stood in his arms for a few more seconds before she inhaled sharply and stepped away. She wiped at her face, trying to control her breathing. Even in his last moments, Regulus was still looking out for her.

Avery watched her closely. “He loved you, you know.”

Hermione’s eyes closed and she felt more tears fall. Her heart felt like it was breaking and she managed to get out, “That doesn’t help.”

“Well, it _should_ ,” he replied forcefully. “Because he loved you, Hermione. And he died for you. He died for a reason. Don’t act like he didn’t, like it doesn’t matter, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing- because that’s unfair to him. It’s unfair on Regulus.”

Hermione stared at him, and she hated the fact that she couldn’t stop crying. She took in a shuddering breath and said weakly, _“I don’t know what to do.”_

Avery’s gaze never wavered. “You live,” he said simply. “Because that’s the last thing Regulus gave you, because that’s what he would’ve wanted. You live and you make his death count for something. That’s all you can do, Hermione, and it won’t feel like it now, but it’s enough.”

**oOoOoOo**

She apparated back to Headquarters and the world didn’t seem to really make sense. The house loomed before her and as she passed over the threshold, the thrum of life and echo of laughter made her stomach clench.

Hermione stumbled into the closest room, and froze. They were all there, laughing and happy and acting as though Regulus hadn’t just died. She felt the blow to her chest as though it were a bullet, piercing through every layer of her skin.

“Hermione!” James exclaimed, standing up, and then his eyes widened. “What happened to you?”

She bothered to glance down then, and the sight made her wish she had looked sooner. Her clothes were dirty and blood-stained, ripped and ragged at the edges. Her hair was matted around her head, resembling more of a birds nest than actual hair. Hermione knew she must look dreadful. It was nothing compared to the blackened mess she was on the inside.

Remus’ face drained of all colour, and his scars were prominent against the starkness of his skin. “Hermione,” he began, starting forwards but he stopped himself.

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Hermione remembered the urge to wake him up and she wondered whether this situation would have been any different if she had. Deep down, she knew it would but it pained her too much to think about it.

Instead, Hermione swallowed thickly and forced herself to look at Sirius. He was staring at her, concerned and shocked, and the worry in his eyes (for _her_ ) made her feel even worse. She opened her mouth, took a deep breath and started crying.

She screamed and yelled and let everything pour out of her, thrashing out at anyone who tried to comfort her. Hermione needed this release. She needed to recollect her thoughts and since her heart was in charred and broken shards, stabbing her insides, she needed to do it alone.

She remembered his crooked smile, and his bright eyes. She remembered his boyish grin and his laugh that echoed around the darkness, scaring the shadows away. Hermione remembered his life, and how exhilarating and earth-shattering Regulus Black truly was. The world was a duller place without him there to brighten it up.

_"But what if it's too late?" Regulus whispered._

_The terror leaked into his voice._

_"I don't think it is."_

_"But if it is?"_

_She paused, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Hermione licked her dry lips and said shakily, meaning every word, "I won't accept that."_

_Regulus' expression morphed into something else, something indecipherable. There was a newfound crease between his eyes. He said, almost breathlessly, "Where did you come from?"_

_Hermione frowned. She hadn't realised but she was trembling. "What do you mean?"_

_"I mean no one else would do this. You're different, you're so- different," Regulus spoke as if he was having difficulty finding the right words. "You're not like anyone here. You're so much more."_

_She shook her head and said, "I'm not. I'm just a girl."_

_His lips curled imperceptibly. Regulus' voice was quiet when he said, **"I won't accept that."**_

“ _Hermione!”_ Sirius shouted, and when she looked around the room, she noticed them all for the first time. Lily was crying quietly, anxious and upset; James was holding her closely. Remus couldn’t even look at her; Peter couldn’t look away. Sirius kneeled down in front of her (when had she fallen?), reaching out hesitantly but then retracting his hand as if he feared she would shatter under his touch. “What happened?”

Hermione stared at him and she murmured, “He’s dead. Sirius, he’s dead.”

This was all that she gave. It was all that was needed. Sirius recoiled as though she had slapped him, looking at her as though he didn’t know her. “ _No_ ,” he whispered, shaking his head adamantly. “No. No. He can’t be- Hermione, please. _No!”_

But she just cried silently.

 _“No!”_ Sirius choked, and he stared at the floor as though he had combusted. James was there in an instant, tying him down, but it wasn’t enough. Because his baby brother was no longer on the planet. A sudden surge of desperation flared up inside of him and he crawled towards her.

“Hermione… You- you can change this!” Sirius said frantically. “Go back in time! Change it! You know what happens now! Stop him from-”

“Sirius,” she cried softly, blinking and the tears she had tried holding back fell from her eyes. He wasn’t listening to her, so she raised her voice at him. “Sirius, that isn’t how it works!”

“THEN HOW DOES IT WORK?!” He yelled, sobbing. He came closer to her, taking hold of her shoulders. Hermione flinched away from him and something flickered in his dark eyes. Sirius calmed down, his voice breaking. “Tell me. _Please_. There has to be a way to prevent this.”

“There was,” she told him, staring him straight in the eye. “And I _fucked_ it up.”

Sirius’ face changed very drastically then, morphing from grief to fury. He said, in a low voice, “You knew this was going to happen?”

Hermione held her breath. “I thought I could stop it.”

The sentence echoed between them, revealing so much more than what was said. It was obvious and painful; she had thought wrong.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!" Sirius screamed at her and it was like everything he had ever held inside of him imploded. Hermione closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay back because it all hurt too much and yet, she deserved it. She deserved more than what he was giving her; she deserved to be hit and screamed at and left to the mercy of Sirius' rage because he was right. She was supposed to protect his baby brother and now he was dead. But at least she had tried.

The tears fell regardless and she opened her eyes and said coldly, _"So were you."_

Sirius stared at her for a while longer, before he threw himself to his feet and stormed from the room. James made a move to go after him but paused, eyes lingering on her.

Lily swept over to her, kneeling beside her and pulling her close. Whilst everyone else was hesitant to touch her, Lily didn’t care. She was _there_ , real and pulsing, reminding Hermione that _she_ was there too. Peter stood in the corner of the room and watched, his eyes pink and wet. It was so scary to see someone so strong, shatter. It was like watching someone invincible die before your eyes.

 _Hermione isn’t dead_ , he reminded himself firmly. _None of them are._

**Not yet, anyway.**

**oOoOoOo**

Sirius didn’t really know where he was going, only that the room had felt too hot and suffocating and Hermione’s face was not something he could stand to look at, if only for the knowledge that those same eyes she had looked at him with, had also witnessed his baby brother dying.

The sky outside churned, a black, cloudy mess above him, and there was the distant threat of a thunderstorm but he continued walking. He couldn’t stop. Stopping meant thinking and thinking meant-

He was thinking. He had to stop thinking.

_He had seen him._

Sirius hadn’t told Hermione because he wasn’t supposed to be on the mission in the first place, but he had seen Regulus. He had been okay! He had been _alive-_

Sirius screamed.

“ _Sirius!”_

He stopped, spinning around and through the flickering streetlights, Sirius saw someone coming towards him. He narrowed his eyes to try and decipher who, but the tears blurred his vision and it was only when he broke down and Remus wrapped his arms tightly around him, did he realise and by then, it was too late to care.

Sirius lost it.

The world didn’t feel real because his baby brother was no longer on it. And he screamed and yelled until his voice was hoarse and his throat felt like it might bleed and he would choke on the blood. He tore at his skin and hair and cried until he couldn’t see and all the while, Remus held onto him, gripping him so tightly that he left handprints; marks that were proof to the only thing keeping him tied to this existence.

When no more feelings would come to the surface, and he had finally turned to silence, Sirius stared at the floor. His baby brother, the one who he had checked under the bed for monsters for, and read Peter Pan to because the boys never had to grow up, was gone. He had been taken by the very monsters Sirius used to check for, and he could only remember the last words his brother said to him:  _“It’s like the ticking crocodile. Time is chasing after all of us.”_

Sirius could still see the smoking battlefield, witness to the last encounter he would ever have with him. Despite being on bedrest from an injury he had sustained on his last mission, he had tagged along with Remus, making sure nobody would tell neither Hermione nor Caradoc. They would’ve had his head. It had been towards the end of the raid, when Sirius had seen him.

They had both been bleeding heavily, fighting to stay alive, and the words Regulus spoke had barely been a fracture on the air between them. They had stood beside one another, not as Death Eater and Order Member, not as dark and light, not as enemies but as brothers.

And now his brother was dead. Time had finally caught up to him.

Remus stood before Sirius, holding his face between his hands, gripping his jaw firmly. He stared into him, amber eyes frantic but unyielding.

“You are damaged and broken and unhinged,” Remus said and Sirius inhaled the words as though he needed them to survive. There was something so heartbreakingly truthful in him, so raw and tender and meaningful. “But so are shooting stars and comets and people still like to wish on those.”

And Sirius didn’t know what overcame him. Perhaps he was just waiting for the world to be beautiful again, because he hadn’t seen it that way for so long, but he leaned in and he kissed Remus Lupin. Sirius moved his lips against Remus’, relishing in the way the latter melted into him. There was nothing restrained about it; they were wild and ravaging, passionate and desperate, gasping for air and something that would make them feel alive again. Their hearts were throbbing, veins pulsing and rejuvenated, and they both thrived off of the vitality. There was something so beautiful about humans in despair, something so fresh and torn and unbridled.

And Sirius Black kissed Remus Lupin because he couldn’t afford not to. Because everything was being ripped away from him and he’d be damned if he let Remus be taken off of him too.

**oOoOoOo**

The Muggle house looked a little different when Hermione apparated back to it. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, but it felt like a different place entirely. Avery entered the living room and if he was surprised to see her back so soon, he didn’t show it.

"Where is the lady?" Hermione asked meekly, eyes taking in the impressive splendour that felt so familiar to her now. And then she realised what was different; there was something dull about it- maybe because Regulus was missing from its extravagance.

"She came back so I obliviated her," Avery drawled, uncaring. At her scandalised look, he added, "She's perfectly fine. She just realised her dream to run away and live in an idyllic seaside cottage in France."

Hermione huffed but couldn't find the energy to chastise him. Avery kept his eyes on her.

“If you wanted someone understanding, you’ve come to the wrong person,” he told her pitilessly.

Hermione’s jaw twitched and her eyes, bright though they usually were, looked dull as they flicked to the door and back. She was clearly regretting her decision. Nevertheless, her throat bobbed and she said, “I just want someone who won’t treat me like I’m about to shatter into millions of pieces.”

There was nothing in her voice or face to suggest that she was anything other than perfectly fine, but Avery’s eyes skimmed over her clenched knuckles and the way that her chest seemed to be heaving. He sighed and sat down in the armchair. “I’ve seen broken,” he said, eyebrows raised, his arm stretched languidly along the top of the cushions. His eyes were locked on her, soft in their urging. “And trust me, you’re not it.”

She nodded, but avoided his gaze. She was trembling, and he must’ve known that that didn’t quite appease her for he sighed.

“The world can be split into popped balloons and ornate vases,” he said, staring into her. Hermione didn’t want to breathe because it hurt her ribs too much. “Your balloons are the people who, bit by bit, have been deflated over the years. Only, they kept trying to fill themselves back up and so they kept trying and trying and trying to be whole, when really they were just destroying themselves because one day, they woke up and popped from all the falseness and realised they had no air left inside of them. The ornate vases are the ones who soldier on before one big something pushes them over the edge and they shatter. I guess it doesn’t sound like much of a difference… except the balloons have got holes in them now, and no matter how much they try to fill themselves up, they’ll never be whole, whilst the vases can be fixed with a bit of glue or tape. They’ll never be the same, but they’re fixable. You see? You’re not a balloon, Hermione. You’re a vase.” His eyes were steady as they stared into her. Avery never wavered. “And I promise to God, you’ve got your tape on.”


	74. Chapter 74- The Dandelion

** Chapter 74- The Dandelion **

**February 1980**

Hermione woke up on the settee in the Muggle house, having refused to sleep in the emerald room again. She sat up blearily, wincing at the stinging of her eyes and the dull throbbing of her heart. Avery was still sound asleep, sprawled out on the floor and she frowned slightly. She remembered him setting his bed up there, even when she told him he could have the sofa or the armchair. He’d scoffed and said, without looking at her, that the armchair would leave him with a sore neck and if she slept on the floor, _he’d_ be the one to face her wrath in the morning. Hermione had tried not to be too offended and had acquiesced only once he’d gotten comfy.

She regarded him now, and it surprised her to hear a soft snore come from his sleeping form. She’d always known it, but Avery was really quite beautiful. His dark hair and thick eyebrows framed his face, which was usually harsh and stoic but now looked soft in slumber.

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was a low and husky murmur, reverberating from his chest. Hermione started and her eyes jumped away, even though she had been caught in the act.

“No,” she said.

Avery lifted his head up and she flicked her gaze to him. He still looked half-enraptured by sleep, all muzzy with bleary eyes and a soft, dopey smile that curled his lips as a result of her quick denial. Hermione swallowed, feeling something leap up to her throat. He rested his head on his hand and looked up at her.

“Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. Unbelievably, she had slept soundly. “Yes,” she replied. “You?”

“The best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time,” Avery told her, stretching out.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, laying back down and looking at him sideways. She said sarcastically, “And it was on the floor of a Muggle lady’s house.”

Avery tilted his head. “Who would’ve guessed?”

She grinned at him, folding back the thin blanket that had been draped over her and getting up. Her hair was knotty and Hermione simply reached for her wand and tapped the top of her head with it; she felt the magic trickle over her, and felt instantly revitalised. Her skin cleared of dirt and blood. There was nothing to show she had been to the cave at all. Nothing except the hole in her where Regulus had been-

Avery stood up then, and she hadn’t realised how close they were until she turned around and came nose-to-nose with him. He didn’t notice. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling her to her and relishing in his warmth. Although he stiffened initially, he soon melted into her embrace, lifting his arms up to hold her.

Her head rested against him and she could both feel and hear his heart beating, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Hermione honestly didn’t know what she would do without his steadiness. Amongst the chaotic oscillation of her life, Avery remained the one constant variable, the one thing that kept her sane.

They pulled away at the same time, but their bodies remained close and their limbs were still entangled within another. Hermione looked up at him through her eyelashes. From here, she could see the smooth porcelain of his skin, and the pinkness of his lips. He was so _whole_. She couldn’t help but remember what he had said last night:

_“The balloons have got holes in them now, and no matter how much they try to fill themselves up, they’ll never be whole, whilst the vases can be fixed with a bit of glue or tape. They’ll never be the same, but they’re fixable. You see? You’re not a balloon, Hermione. You’re a vase.” His eyes were steady as they stared into her. Avery never wavered. “And I promise to God, you’ve got your tape on.”_

She realised it in a flash, and it surprised her more than it logically should’ve done. Avery was her tape.

“I should probably go,” she whispered. Her breath tickled his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You probably should.”

And yet she didn’t move. Neither did he. They both just stood, within one another, staring at one another, sharing breaths. Hermione didn’t think this was even real.

_"I heard you and he had gotten close. He's fond of you, you know.”_

She stood on her tiptoes, leaning up so that she could place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Have I been redeemed yet, Miss Granger?” He asked her in a low voice. Hermione remembered that conversation as though it had happened in a dream.

“You redeemed yourself a long time ago,” Hermione told him. Her eyes were almost closed. She hadn’t felt this sort of security in a long time. “Have you changed your mind yet?”

Avery turned his head slightly, and the corner of their lips brushed. She felt his smirk.

_“Not yet.”_

 

**oOoOoOo**

**March 1980**

 

Remus left at the end of March. He didn’t take anything with him and they stood in the kitchen of Headquarters to say their goodbyes, or ‘see you laters’ as James had put it. Peter had held him for a long time, arms wrapped around his waist, looking like he’d give anything not to let go; Remus had to pry him off in the end. James had given him a tight hug, patting his cheek and telling him not to grow attached to any mangy dogs, since he had his own mangy dog back here. The mangy dog in question had remained quiet, uncharacteristically so, loitering in the background and watching them all with dark eyes. Sirius had only moved when Remus looked at him, moving forwards and encircling the taller boy in his arms, clenching his eyes shut and trying not to think that this could be the last time he would ever feel him. They hadn’t even spoken about the kiss, but Sirius knew they’d have to. As they pulled apart, their breaths brushed one another and it was a more intimate goodbye than they could cope with so they hastily stepped away.

Eventually, Remus looked at Hermione. It hurt her for some reason, because he was still the same Remus she had fallen in love with. His hair and eyes were golden, and the dusting of freckles across his nose were like galaxies that she wanted to lose herself in; she remembered trying to count them. She hadn’t gotten far. She swallowed back any tears and threw herself into him, clinging to him just as tightly as he clung to her, and they could both feel their atoms surging, desperately trying to hang onto one another before they were snatched apart again. She forced herself to part from him.

“Can you remember that moment?” Remus whispered, hand cradling her face. He was careful; his fingertips barely lingered. “That moment I wanted to bottle so that I could spill the happiness when I needed it?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but Hermione remembered. How could she forget? He swallowed and finally looked into her eyes. “I’m taking it with me. For when I need it. For when I need _you,_ to slap me around and lift me up.”

He cracked a grin and let loose a shaky laugh and Hermione smiled at him. Then, Remus grew solemn once more and muttered, “Mae pob munud rydyn ni'n ei rhannu'n werth y byd yn grwn i mi.”

Her eyebrows pulled into a small frown; she remembered those words, he’d said them before.

“What does that mean?” Hermione whispered.

Remus stroked her cheek, “ _Every minute we share is worth the whole world to me.”_

She forgot to breathe and Hermione pulled him into another hug, and this time, she squeezed him so tightly, like she was scared he’d forget who she was during his time away. He buried his face in her hair. They committed one another to memory.

Before they could get too attached, they broke apart. Remus turned away. He gave them all one last, lingering smile, one which didn’t quite touch the golden flecks in his eyes, before he left the kitchen. The door to Headquarters slammed shut and the four of them stood silently for a few moments longer, and then they dispersed, continuing life as though their best friend ( _a part of them_ ) had not just left to go live with werewolves.

Hermione stood in her room now. Headquarters felt emptier and she wasn’t sure how, because people came and went all the time, but Remus’ absence felt like a hole in the house itself. She stared down at the dandelion in her open drawer. The features remained intact, thanks to the spell Remus had cast on it when he’d first given it to her.

_“I’m saving it.”_

_He cocked his head. “Saving it? For what?”_

_A lump formed in her throat and she wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. For the darkness, for the war, for **you** -_

_“For when I need a bit of hope,” she said instead, bumping her shoulder into his. His smile dropped and he continued to stare at her, monitoring her face. It was like he knew it all anyway._

_“Hope,” he repeated, lifting his finger up. She tapped it with hers and smiled at him._

_“Hope.”_

Hermione swallowed, picking the dandelion up with shaking fingers. She closed her eyes.

 _Keep him safe_ , she thought. _Bring him back to me alive and safe._

“ _Hope_ ,” she whispered. Hermione blew it.

**oOoOoOo**

“ _Stupefy!”_

The Death Eater froze, momentarily immobilised, before he fell backwards. Hermione didn’t care to watch it and she wasted no time in skidding around the corner of a dilapidated house. The raid had been instigated by Voldemort on a Muggle village, setting things on fire and exploding anything his minions thought would be fun to explode. It wasn’t an important event; Voldemort was not there himself and the small group he had sent were average at best. If she hadn’t been running for her life, Hermione would’ve questioned this. Where were his skilled fighters? What were they too busy doing to attend this raid?

A spell whistled past her head and she ducked to the side. She needed to catch her breath- she had lost count of how many Death Eaters she had stupefied since the Order had arrived. A cloaked figure, one she knew immediately was _not_ on her side, rounded the corner. His eyes widened and he did a double take at seeing her there, hastily scrambling for his wand-

He was on the floor before Hermione had time to cast a spell.

She held her breath, pointing her wand ahead of her, hearing footsteps approaching. They got closer and closer-

“Granger.”

The Death Eater stood before her did not attack her and she recognised the voice, but found she couldn’t place it. He sighed and reached up to pull the mask off. She bit back her surprise, but it was fleeting.

“You’ve been strangely quiet these past few years,” Hermione noted coldly. She didn’t lower her wand.

Severus Snape sneered. “You haven’t.”

She felt her blood run cold at this and a frown pulled her eyebrows together as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“The Dark Lord knows all about you. He’s intrigued,” Snape told her. Hermione raised her eyebrows at his bored tone.

“And you’re not?”

He pursed his lips at her sarcasm, and then a slight smirk appeared. “I tried to tell him you’re just a prudish girl who thrives on irritating others but he wouldn’t listen.”

She cocked her head at him and scowled. Some things never changed. She demanded, “What do you want, Snape?”

This seemed to sober him up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, holding it out for her. Hermione regarded him suspiciously and he wiggled it about in impatience. She huffed, but stretched out nonetheless to snatch the slip of paper from him.

“From Avery.”

This piqued her attention and her head shot up to him. A sly smile curled Snape’s lips and Hermione blushed and looked back down at the paper. It was only small, about the size of two of her fingers, and fit easily in her palm. She went to turn it over-

_They are coming._

Hermione felt like she had been doused in cold water and she climbed to her feet quickly. She read and re-read the three words, but they never changed. It was a warning.

Without thinking, she set off in the opposite direction, needing to find Caradoc or go back home. There was only one place they could attack. It all made sense- this raid was a distraction.

"Hermione."

She spun around, eyes wide and expectant. Snape was stood at the very end of the street, his face a white wedge amongst the darkness, mask hanging from his hand. He said after a moment, "I'm sorry about Regulus."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she swallowed back the words and nodded. The next moment, she had apparated away.

When she appeared, she was greeted by screams and a ravaging heat that licked at her bare skin. Hermione blinked, spinning around, and she faltered.

Headquarters was on fire.

The flames roared, groping into the night sky and howling for all to hear. There were a few people stood on the street, watching it. Alice and Peter were among them. Hermione raced over, and when she got closer, she realised that Peter was holding a screaming Alice back.

“ _FRANK!”_ She tried wrenching herself away from Peter, but his arm was firm around her.

“What happened?” Hermione questioned, staring in horror at the flames.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, at a loss for words. He was slightly breathless from having to restrain a pregnant Alice. “One minute, everything was fine. The next, the ceiling is collapsing and we can’t breathe because the air is too thick. The fire consumed everything.”

“Have you tried putting it out?” The look he gave her clearly told her how stupid a question that was. Hermione winced slightly. “Well, why isn’t it working? Dark magic?”

“That’s the best guess,” Peter said uncertainly. The fire still roared and Alice’s sob cut through their conversation. Hermione looked at her, then back at Pete in alarm.

“There are still people in there?” She asked.

His face grew grim and she knew it to be true. Her eyes found the house and she demanded, “Who?”

“Frank, Emmeline and Datner, I think-”

Peter didn’t even get the chance to finish before Hermione started running to the house. Her wand slipped into her hand and she searched her brain for any counter spell she could think of- she knew many, hundreds even, possibly thousands. But none of them could stop magic this dark.

There was nothing more she could do… She’d have to drag them out herself.

Just as Hermione was about to run into the house, a pulsing in her skull stopped her. His voice cut through Alice’s screams and the roar of the fire. She heard it, _felt_ _it_ , inside of her.

“ _Kairos_.” The hiss felt to implode inside of her mind and Hermione clutched at her head in an attempt to stop the pain. It felt like her skull was splitting open. _“I promised I’d find you again. Give yourself in to me… And I will spare your friends. Give yourself in to me and I will ensure my Death Eaters leave your pathetic little army alone…”_

Hermione frowned, spinning around, trying to find the source of the voice. _Where was he?_

“You don’t have my friends,” she spat, knowing he’d somehow be able to hear her if she thought it loud enough. A chuckle snaked through her mind and the sound of it curled her toes. “They will fight you.”

 _“I have no doubt that they will. In fact, Kairos, I’m counting on it.”_ There was something about the way he said it, the manic glee present in his voice that unnerved her. _“My Death Eaters love to hunt. Shooting fish in a barrel is not their favourite sport.”_

“You know I’m not going to let that happen,” Hermione told him through gritted teeth. Of course he did. That was the whole point of his threat.

 _“Oh I know. It’s that Gryffindor… courage,”_ he spat out the last word, as though it burnt his tongue to do so.

Hermione’s brain was on overdrive. The fire was a constant reminder of him, hot and furious in her face. What did he really have on her? Three members of the Order were trapped inside, but she could save them physically. Her team on the raid were still fighting when she left.

“You don’t have my friends,” Hermione said slowly, bravery (or recklessness- the two were interchangeable, it seemed) fuelling her. The voice was silent. _“_ You don’t have them _. So you don’t have me.”_

Her heartbeat was the only thing she could hear for a few seconds, loud in her ears, and then Voldemort started laughing. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. That could not be a good sign.

There were multiple pops behind her as people apparated onto the street, and she turned around. Vomit threatened to force its way up her throat, but she swallowed it back. She needed to stay calm.

Lined along the street were her friends. And they were not alone.

Behind each of them stood a Death Eater, with the tip of their wand pressed against her friends’ pulses. Hermione choked back a scream.

“ _I believe that’s where you’re wrong, Kairos. I do have your friends… And I **do** have you.”_

“Fine,” Hermione whispered. She shook herself for being weak. “Fine! If I have your word that you will _NOT_ harm my friends…” She couldn’t believe she was saying this. She couldn’t believe it had come down to this. “I’ll come with you.”

“HERMIONE!” Caradoc yelled. The Death Eater holding him kicked the back of his knees and he slumped to the ground, groaning in pain.

She shouted, “You are NOT to hurt them! Am I understood!?”

He simply stared at her behind his mask. Hermione’s eyes scanned the Order members and she felt a sick wave of relief when she realised James, Lily and Sirius were not there. They hadn’t been in Headquarters either.

“ _Turn yourself in Kairos and they shall not be harmed,”_ Voldemort’s voice was slick in her ear and it sounded like he was whispering behind her. She could almost feel the hiss of his breath tickle her skin. “ _Turn yourself in… And I shall show you… mercy…”_

“Okay,” Hermione uttered. Caradoc’s eyes widened. Peter was crying. “Okay.”

She saw the Death Eaters dissipate into black smoke and her friends broke free. Caradoc started running towards her and she moved to meet him, reaching out-

And then she was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, this chapter sucks/: I don't even know why. I don't like this chapter.  
> Anyway, please review! I wish I was lying when I say that my day basically consists of eating and refreshing my email to check for reviews... I know, I'm sad and need a life. I just really care what you have to say! Thank you so so much. I love you all.  


	75. Chapter 75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed a few of you are a wee bit confused with the relationships at the moment(:
> 
> Hermione and Remus broke up a few chapters ago in Chapter 71, when he told her he was going undercover for Dumbledore. She reacted to this in the way that Remus has reacted whenever she’s done something dangerous (which is very overprotective). Hermione fell out with Remus when he did this to her and so, the tables have turned now when she tries to tell him what to do. In the end, it shows that even the most lovely and beautiful of things are affected by war. People were dying and Remus was leaving and although they love each other, they don’t feel it’s enough for them to survive.
> 
> Remus and Sirius, on the other hand, has been building up for the entire fic. It was subtle so it may have gone unnoticed but I have seen a few comments picking up on the Wolfstar hints; there are just small things in which Remus and Sirius are connected. Since this is an author’s note, I won’t go into too much detail, but if you want me to explain in detail, message me and I can:)
> 
> Hermione and Avery have always had something as well, despite the fact that neither one of them has ever really addressed it. They have become the most popular ship it seems in this fic so it’s really no surprise that these two are getting closer (and will continue to get closer following Reggie’s death).
> 
> I hope that clears things up a little bit! But if there are any more questions, please PM me!!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I’ve used snippets from the actual Harry Potter books here so credit goes to JK Rowling obviously:)

 

** Chapter 75 **

**March 1980**

 

When Hermione came to, the first thing she noticed was that her wrists and ankles were surprisingly loose. She had expected to be tied up, or at least restrained. It was odd, she thought, but she wasn't going to complain to anyone. Knowing her luck, that would get her thrown in a dungeon and chained to the wall. Escape was harder when you were chained to a wall- but that was a given.

The room she was in was nicer than any she had ever seen, far more impressive than was totally necessary. The ceiling was high, and the walls were a shimmering silver. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. What was it with Slytherins and their house colours? It was like their fragility would crumble if they so much as looked at the colour red.

The door opened and her head shot to it, watching as Voldemort stepped into the room. It never failed to unnerve her, how human he looked in this time. He wasn't supposed to look human, he was supposed to look like a monster- monsters were easier to kill; less weight on the conscience.

"How are you enjoying your visit?" He asked politely, dark eyes sweeping over her.

"Why the luxury?" Hermione demanded, ignoring his question.

He raised an eyebrow. It was a strange expression for his otherwise expressionless face. "Because you're my guest," he told her.

She watched cautiously as Voldemort walked over to an armchair opposite the bed. He sat down in it and stared at her.

Hermione studied him. It was not often that you got time to study the darkest wizard of all time, what with all the killing and maiming going on between his side and yours, so Hermione let her eyes rake over him. He looked young, even though she knew he'd have to be at least fifty now. There was no evidence that he had aged at all; his skin was smooth and pale, his eyes were dark and framed by long eyelashes. His dark hair looked soft and uniformed.

She supposed, in a way, he was handsome. Hermione recoiled. _Handsome?_ Where did that come from? He was the Dark Lord for crying out loud! But he _was_ attractive... Or at least, he would've been if he didn't freak out and try and murder everyone all the time.

A low chuckle pulled her from her thoughts and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I _was_ handsome once,” Voldemort said loftily, his dark eyes flickering red with his amusement. She felt her cheeks grow hot. Had she said that aloud or was he reading her thoughts again? Either way, she made sure to clear her mind.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, glowering at him.

“Well, as you put it, I… _freaked_ _out_ and murdered everyone.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to appear aloof but her heart was beating wildly. He could probably hear it. Hermione said sarcastically, “What, go a bit overboard during our rebellious stage, did we?”

Voldemort’s lips curled into an imperceptible smile. “We did.”

It was unerring to have the Dark Lord joke with you, and she wasn’t sure whether she preferred this or the straight-talking one, where he tortured first and asked questions later. At least then, you knew his ulterior motives. Here, it was deceptive.

Hermione took a deep breath and told him straight, “I’m not telling you anything. Not willingly. I’d rather die than give you any advantage in this war.”

Voldemort laughed again, eyes staring into her, when he said, “We’ll see.”

She swallowed. “Yes. We will.”

**oOoOoOo**

But they didn’t see. Not at all.

Her imprisonment went like this for a long time: Hermione would sleep; Voldemort would sit in her room; sometimes they talked, sometimes they sat in silence and stared at one another; Voldemort left. The next day, the cycle restarted.

It was odd and at first, and Hermione used his visits to count the days but then they grew more infrequent and irregular. Sometimes, she wouldn’t see him at all. Others, she would see him up to five times a day. He’d bring her news of the war, and act like it was simply the weather forecast. He’d tell her his plans and queries, always sharing his every thought. If it was anyone else, Hermione would’ve laughed at their lack of caution. But this was Voldemort- he knew as well as she did, that there was no harm in telling her everything; there was no way she could escape and use it against him so why should he be careful? If anything, this was his own form of sadistic mockery as she was forced to listen to his plans to destroy the Order of the Phoenix, knowing she could never do anything to prevent them.

Soon enough, she grew accustomed to his visits. They were the only thing of interest in her captivity but that didn’t mean she planned on sticking about any longer than she had to. Her mind had already pinpointed the key means of escape. Hermione had no idea for how long she had been held here, but she knew it was long enough.

This time, Voldemort entered and she barely spared him a glance until he sat down on her bed and said tiredly, “I’ve just thwarted another one of your side’s little rescue attempts.” Hermione’s eyes shot to him. “It seems Dumbledore isn’t willing to leave his favourite tool in the enemy’s hands.”

She scoffed, and then bit her lip when she saw the intrigue flare red in his eyes. “Oh? What’s this? Something between Dumbledore and his Golden Girl? Tell me, Kairos. Is there trouble in paradise?”

Hermione sent him a disgusted look, but shifted in her seat. Instead, she said, “Stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what?” Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow but not commenting on her change of subject. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 _“Kairos!”_ She said loudly, fixing him with a glare. He had only called her one thing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was referring to. “Why _do_ you call me it anyway?”

Voldemort regarded her for a moment before he stood up and walked around the room. Hermione’s eyes followed him, and he started to recite:

_“’Who was the sculptor and where did he come from? From Sikyon._

_What was his name? Lysippus._

_And who are you? The Time that controls all things._

_Why do you stand on tip-toe? I'm running._

_Why do you have a pair of wings on your feet? I fly with the wind._

_Why do you have a razor in your right hand? As a reminder for people that I am sharper than any sharp edge._

_Why do you have a tuft of hair over your face? So he who meets me can take me by the hair._

_And why, in heaven's name, is the back of your head bald? Because after I pass by, on my winged feet, nobody can catch me anymore, even if they wish they could._

_Why has the artist sculpted you? For your sake, stranger, and he put me on the porch so as you might learn something.’"_

When he'd finished speaking, he ended up by the door. Hermione was frowning, trying to commit the verse to memory so she could analyse it later. She recognised it as Greek mythology but she failed to see its relevance. She looked at him, surprised to see him leaving so soon.

"What does that mean?"

He looked at her, pausing with his long, spidery fingers on the door handle. Voldemort quirked an eyebrow and said in his velvety, baritone voice, "You're a smart girl. Figure it out."

And then he left.

Hermione stared at the place he had just been standing. His visits, though just the notion of being visited by the Dark Lord was strange, were becoming stranger, more and more like this. She barely had the energy to keep up with him and yet, a small part of her, (one she would keep to herself), looked forward to his call-ins. Perhaps _'look forward'_ was too positive a phrase. _Anticipate_ worked better. Voldemort was stimulating and unpredictable and Hermione found herself increasingly intrigued by him; he was like her very own riddle, one to solve when the novelty of imprisonment grew old (and it grew old fast).

Speaking of riddles, the verse he had recited was already echoing through her brain.

Kairos was the Greek God of opportunity; this she knew. But how did that relate to her? Why was Voldemort so persistent in forcing the title upon her? And what's more, why had she been treated like a guest? She was his prisoner! If he thought he could simply bore her into telling him everything then he had another thing coming! 

 _But_ , a small voice in the back of her mind said, if he'd have wanted information, he could've taken it by force already. He'd proved time and time again that he was not afraid to hurt people to get what he wanted. So, the question presented itself, glaringly obvious and it made Hermione uneasy because she did not like not knowing things: why hadn't Voldemort hurt her?

**oOoOoOo**

This question was applicable only for another week or so.

When he visited this time, Hermione greeted him in her usual sardonic way, only to feel a chill creep over her. Voldemort was unresponsive and he slammed the door shut behind him, pacing at the bottom of her bed. She swallowed back her alarm, and decided it was probably wiser for her to keep her mouth shut.

Voldemort was _seething_ ; his fury was legendary and she could feel it pouring out of him, washing over her and threatening to devour her. Hermione watched him carefully, trepidation thick in her throat, as he turned and finally looked at her.

“Your little Order are like rats,” he said calmly, and she didn’t know whether the lack of… well, _everything_ in his voice was scarier than if he screamed at her. “They’re underneath my feet, scurrying around and nibbling through things they shouldn’t nibble through, like electrical wires and poison pellets.”

“Surely, that’s a good thing,” Hermione forced herself to say because the blankness of his dark eyes terrified her in the silence of the room. “Don’t you want them to get electrocuted?”

Voldemort regarded her for a moment and his anger simmered. “No. Oh, no. Electrocution is a far too… _forgivable_ fate.” He moved around the side of the bed, bringing his face close to hers. Hermione felt the hiss of his breath and the dangerous promise of his words. The red in his eyes pulsed. He whispered, “When I get my hands on your friends, I’m going to hurt them in such a way that they’ll know _mercy_ was a thing Dumbledore lied to them about in order to get them to fight me. I’ll savour them. They’re going to wish for death. They’re going to _beg_ me for it.”

Hermione turned her face away from him and his breath was hot and wet on her cheek. She stared resolutely at the wall, lips tightly pursed together, face stony. She would **not** let him get to her.

Voldemort drew back, eyes still locked on her, and called, “Bring him in!”

Despite the promise she made to herself to not react, Hermione’s eyes flicked to the door and her face slackened. Bound and gagged, unconscious, with blood dribbling down the side of his face, was Datner. The Death Eater dragging him in was not one she recognised and he dumped his body down in the middle of the room and retreated. Voldemort was on him in a second.

“You said you would spare them!” Hermione stressed, crawling across the bed. Her eyes flashed and she stared at Voldemort. “You said you would spare my friends if I came with you.”

He snarled, snapping his gaze to her. The red there was undeniable and she wondered whether he even knew it happened; had he ever seen the way his eyes drained to red?

“And what of those who aren’t your friend?” Voldemort hissed. “Would you like me to spare those too?”

This threw her off and she hesitated. “ _What?”_

“You think he’s your friend?” Voldemort grabbed Datner’s head and wrenched it back so Hermione could see his face. She cringed at the sight of him. “Did you ever realise that we were always one step behind you? Did it ever cross your pretty, _closed-off_ little mind that my Death Eaters were there to meet you at every corner? How do you think we did that, Kairos? How do you think I always found you?”

Hermione knew what he was insinuating but she wouldn’t believe it. She shook her head adamantly, refusing to answer him. Voldemort whipped out and gripped her jaw in his fingers, squeezing tightly and she clenched her eyes shut.

“Come now. I know you’re an intelligent girl. Don’t play dumb with me.”

But Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, tasting the hot tang of her blood. Seeing he wouldn’t get a reply from her, he pushed her face away and turned his attention back to Datner. She hadn’t noticed it before, but his wand was out.

“It wasn’t willing,” Voldemort told her. “Oh no. He was most difficult in the beginning. There was a lot of torture and a lot of death. His wife screams most deliciously. But then again… lovers always do.”

Hermione watched, eyes wide, feeling the sick crawl up her throat. Voldemort circled Datner and all she could think of was the kind man who had taught her Defence Against the Dark Arts all those years ago, laughing with twinkling eyes. She couldn’t bear to imagine him in Voldemort’s hands.

“Eventually, he let slip that a _teenage_ _girl_ had managed to beat Alastor Moody,” Voldemort continued. “I was intrigued. I sent the Malfoy boy to find out more for me, and young Avery to send a message-”

Hermione stiffened. He didn’t seem to notice.

“- but I still knew nothing about the girl. It was like she had _fallen from the sky._ ” Voldemort’s voice was mocking and she hung to his every word, eyes flicking to Datner every now and then just to make sure his pulse was still fluttering. “So I called on my favourite Auror. I’d erased his memory the first time, you see. His wife was on holiday, he told people. She was really rotting in my dungeon. He told me that he’d made a vow about you, one which he could not break. In the end, I had to look in his mind; it broke him. But I found out all about you, my dear. And I admit, I was _fascinated_.”

Voldemort had walked closer to her and he stoked her cheekbone with the tip of his wand. Hermione refused to look at him and he pressed it hard into her skin, only relinquishing when she winced from the pain.

“I had to obliviate him after that as well and send him back to you, but I checked up on him every now and then,” Voldemort told her casually, moving back to Datner. “He was my own little spy and you never even realised it. My nibbling rat amongst your nest.”

Hermione whispered, “Not by choice.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking at her. “Hm?”

“He didn’t spy on us by choice.” She looked straight at him and said calmly, “You forced him to. There’s a difference. If you’re hoping for the betrayal to sting, you’re vastly overestimating your power over us.”

Voldemort stared at her, and something flickered red in his eyes. He said, “He worked for me. Therefore, he cannot be spared.”

Hermione saw it happening before she could stop it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t try. She scrambled across the bed, throwing herself off of it and towards Voldemort. It didn’t matter; the green light stretched from the tip of his wand and made impact with Datner’s chest. He slumped to the floor and it was like he had never even existed, as dead as the rat Voldemort spoke of electrocuting.

She had already hurled herself at him and so she collided with his side. Voldemort reached for her and Hermione thrashed out, kicking and punching him. She writhed out of his grip, knowing that she would be punished but finding that the fury overpowered the fear inside of her.

Voldemort was hissing and he eventually managed to get her under him, pinning her down to the floor, his hand pressing down on her throat, cutting the oxygen off from her lungs. Hermione choked, clawing at him to let her go or at least, relieve the pressure.

 _“Why?”_ She demanded, all but screaming at him, and she knew she should be crying but the tears wouldn’t come. She was too angry, too confused. “Why did you kill him?”

“Hermione, _my dear,”_ he hissed and his laugh came out gargled. “I tried being nice to you. I tried to be civil. But you are just determined to make things difficult, aren’t you _Kairos?”_

Hermione let out a wheeze and she said, “You call me that because you think I’m your opportunity.” Something changed in Voldemort’s eyes and his hand faltered on her neck before he squeezed harder. “You just don’t know whether you’ve got me… or whether you missed me.”

Voldemort stared at her and then she felt him move his hand to retrieve his wand. He held it in front of her face, and the tip of it kissed the space between her eyes. Hermione closed them.

“Look at me,” he said. His voice was calm now. She didn’t. She kept her eyes clenched shut. Voldemort’s patience grew thin and he roared, **_“LOOK AT ME!”_**

Hermione defied him. If she was going to die, she was not going to give him the satisfaction. She was not going to grant him the sick pleasure of watching the light drain from her eyes.

“Very well, Kairos,” he snarled, pressing his wand deeper into her skin. “ _Have it your way.”_

And Hermione was split open.

The agony was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was like she was being torn apart, bit by bit, then stitched back together and she felt the needle piercing her skin, drawing blood and leaving a scar guideline all over her body. She didn’t know what happened but everything was black and Hermione couldn’t feel Voldemort on top of her because there was a heaviness all over, like life itself had turned against her and wanted to suffocate her.

She could hardly breathe because there was so much darkness and Hermione wanted to scream or find something she could use to cut the darkness open because it was too much, or maybe cut herself open so that there would be some way for her lungs to get the oxygen they needed.

She didn’t know how long she was stuck in the darkness, only that it soon got very quiet; so quiet, Hermione was scared to make a noise that would shatter it, just in case the shards slit her on their descent-

**“Hermione!”**

_“Okay, write that down,” Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, “then add this conclusion I've written for you.”_

_“Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,” said Ron weakly, “and if I'm ever rude to you again-”_

_“- I'll know you're back to normal.”_

**“Hermione!”**

_Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione._

_“You’re okay,” he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly._

_“I thought– I thought–“_

_“M all right,” said Ron, patting her on the back. “‘M fine.”_

_“Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom–“_

_“You did?” said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck._

_“Always the tone of surprise,” he said grumpily, breaking free._

**“Hermione-”**

_His face seemed to change. His lips stretched wide, wonky and grinning. They mouthed her name. Ron’s eyes lit up, wide and relieved at the sight of her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there, unscathed, alive for him._

_And maybe that was why he didn’t notice the hulking figure of blackness emerging from the shadows. Maybe that was why she didn’t see it either._

_But when Fenrir Greyback twisted his claws through the back of Ron Weasley, those same eyes that had creased every time she made him laugh, and narrowed when they argued; those same eyes that closed when she kissed him and softened every time they landed on her, those same eyes widened one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within._

The voice screamed, splintering the darkness.

_He sent her a youthful, freckle-spattered grin. Hermione smiled at him. They both collected up their stuff and headed towards the door, leaving her staring at her feet._

_"Chin up, poppet," Fabian said, pausing in the doorway. He was smiling at her. It was a lot softer than the grin she was accustomed to seeing. "Things will get better."_

“No,” Hermione murmured.

_Fabian turned to look at her, and his hair was like a halo in the explosions behind him. His freckled face was pale beneath the blood and bruises that had formed there, and the whizzing lights of the magic were reflected in his eyes. He smiled slightly, and said, “Chin up, poppet. Things will get better."_

**“Hermione! Wake up!”**

_A small sob escaped before she could stop it and she started forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her. At first, he didn't seem to know how to react, but he slowly melted into her embrace, hugging her back, allowing the safety of her arms to lull him. Hermione cupped the back of his head, cradling him closer and cherishing the feeling of his breath ghosting her neck. They were clutching onto one another so tightly, and she could feel the indentations he made in her skin from how hard his grip was but she didn’t move or lessen her hold on him, lest he disappear- this time, for good._

_"I was so-" she broke off, the words getting stuck._

_"I'm sorry," Regulus replied, clutching onto her tightly. His voice was muffled in her neck. “I’m so sorry.”_

“Regulus,” she whispered. “No…”

_“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ripping his scarf and overcoat from his body and throwing them on a countertop._

_“On the contrary,” Avery replied philosophically. “By Hermione’s reckoning, it appears you’re on-time.”_

_She shot him a glare. Regulus glanced between the two of them cautiously, before he shook his head, unfazed by their antics. He looked surprisingly well, all things considered, and Hermione’s eyes snagged and lingered on the straight and steady set of his shoulders, and the untouched white of his cheeks._

_“Life looks to be treating you well,” she commented. Regulus looked at her, eyes bright as they ran over her form. He had grown quite a bit since they’d all left school, and now towered above her._

_“I wish I could say the same for you,” he said cheekily. Hermione let herself smile at his childishness. She forgot what being fresh resembled. His face grew earnest. “How are you?”_

_She shrugged a shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself and offering him a small smile. “I’m alive. How are you?”_

_Regulus grinned, leaning forward and said, “I am dandy, thank you for asking.”_

**“Please, you need to wake up!”**

_“REGULUS!” She screamed, clutching the side of the boat so tightly she could feel the splinters in her hands._

_He knew they were coming and yet, he just stared at her, his lips curling into a small and crooked smile. He stared at her as the Inferi tore at him, shredded him, dragged him to the ground and down into the water. One minute he was there, the next minute he was a base to a pyramid of monsters, each ravaging his flesh, gorging his life out of his body. His screams echoed around the cavern, drowning out her own._

_And then there was silence._

**“HERMIONE!”**


	76. Chapter 76- The Dragon

** Chapter 76- The Dragon **

****

**“HERMIONE!”**

Hermione shot up.

The room was swathed in shadows but through the veil, she could just make someone out. Their face was looming close to hers and their hands were on her shoulders.

“Avery?” She murmured. Her entire body throbbed and she felt like sleep still had her in its clutches.

A small smile played at his lips. “Yeah, Granger. Yeah, it’s me.”

She couldn’t properly explain the relief that overwhelmed her. It was like she could breathe freely for the first time in years. He pulled back her blanket (she was in a bed. When had she gone to bed?) and helped swing her round so her toes were touching the floor. Avery’s face was right in front of her; the only thing she could see.

“Can you walk?” He asked. If she was being perfectly candid, Hermione couldn’t even think properly but she sucked her lips in and tried to stand up. The way she fell into him answered his question and he lifted both her legs back onto the bed with a sharp intake of air through his pursed lips. Her head fell back onto the pillow and her eyes flickered closed once more. She felt feverish, slipping between hot and cold, sleep and awake.

“I want a funeral,” Hermione murmured.

Avery huffed a laugh. “For yourself or…? Cause I plan on getting us both out of this alive-”

“For Regulus.”

This made him stop slightly, but not for long and he looked at her. His dark eyes were steady and Hermione found it strange that the darkness of his eyes was different to the darkness she had been trapped in. “Okay,” he said, nodding slightly. “We’ll have a funeral.”

This appeased her and she let Avery slip an arm around her waist and another under her legs before he lifted her up.

“I can walk,” Hermione told him in annoyance but she was muzzy and Avery just scoffed.

“Alright, darling. Is your ego blocking out the fact you just fell onto me a second ago?”

She didn’t reply and Avery hoisted her higher up, adjusting his grip on her so she could lean against him. He carried her away from the bed and towards the open door, slipping out into the corridor.

“What are you doing here, Avery?” Hermione asked him, and her words nearly slurred together. He shushed her. Through her haze, the only steady thing was his face and she stared at it with hope that her fragmented world would piece itself together around him.

Avery frowned. “I guess you could say I’m saving you.”

She mulled this over for a moment as they turned a corner. She had no idea where he was taking her and she knew she probably should care but she couldn’t. Everything was fuzzy.

“I thought George was the hero,” Hermione murmured groggily. “Not the dragon.” She looked up at him. “Shouldn’t you be a knight in shining armour?”

Avery looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. He didn’t even spare her a glance however and continued walking. He said, “Hermione, I hate to be the one to break it to you but the world is not made up of dragons and knights. Sometimes, it’s the knights that breathe fire and the dragons that save the princess-”

“Queen,” she slurred.

“What?”

“If I’m in the story, I want to be a queen,” Hermione told him sleepily.

Avery nearly laughed but he was quick to keep the sound locked in his throat for later. His eyes flicked down to her and he shook his head. “Of course, even half-dead, Hermione Granger is in charge of her role in a make-believe story.”

“I’m not… half-dead,” she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest. It was warm here. His heart was beating fervently.

“Oh?” He whispered. “What are you then?”

“ _Tired_ ,” Hermione moaned.

Avery never stopped moving and she hoped he knew where he was going. She’d never been allowed to leave her room; Voldemort had always come to her. Then, again, he should know- he was a Death Eater after all. Hermione whimpered, remembering the way Datner slumped to the floor. Avery gripped her tighter.

“You’re ours, aren’t you?” Hermione asked him, the weak sob catching in her throat. She felt Avery hesitate, but he didn’t slow down.

“What are you talking about, Granger?”

“I mean, you don’t belong to Voldemort,” she murmured, and her upset at the mere notion leaked into her voice regardless of any of her attempts to keep it back. “I mean, you’re _ours_. Not his.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, relaxing.

“You promise?”

A slight smirk curled his lips. He glanced down at her briefly and said, “I’m yours, Hermione. Don’t you worry about it.”

He turned another corner and swore. Hermione poked her head up, but he squeezed her leg and she ducked it back down again. Avery, rigid, continued walking and she twisted her head so she could monitor his face. It was closed off, precariously so, and he must’ve sensed her gaze on him for he murmured, barely moving his lips, “Think you can play full-dead?”

Hermione didn’t answer, just loosened her body and slumped against him. She felt his fingers tighten on her leg and knew this was good enough. He whispered something under his breath and she felt a blanket cover her up, but she had no time to question it.

“Avery?” A voice said ahead of them. _Ah._ Now she knew why he had asked her to act dead.

“Yaxley,” Avery greeted. His deep voice reverberated against her.

“What’s this?” The voice grew closer.

“Dolohov broke another one,” was all he said, his tone suggesting this was a regular occurrence and he was bored of tidying up the mess. Yaxley stopped, instantly disinterested.

“Was she pretty?” Yaxley asked. Hermione felt Avery shrug and she tried not to let the goosebumps on her arms show as her skin crawled at the question.

“What does it matter? She wasn’t when he finished with her.”

Yaxley grimaced and he stepped to the side to let Avery pass through. He hesitated however when Yaxley questioned from the side of them (so close, Hermione held her breath. _Too close_ ), “Why is she covered by a blanket?”

Avery missed a second, then another and then he said, “Perhaps Dolohov is finally growing a sense of remorse.”

There was a moment where this reply was tasted and chewed over by Yaxley before the other Death Eater started laughing, clapping Avery on the back as he walked past him.

“Good one, Avery. I’m glad to see you still retain a sense of humour with all this going on. Mulciber burns the bodies tomorrow. Just put her on the pile until then.”

Hermione made sure to stay as still as possible, counting the steps away until Avery vanished the blanket and she stretched out, taking a deep breath. She hadn’t realised she had been holding it all this time.

“You can put me down now,” Hermione told him quietly. The adrenaline that had coursed through her body when they’d met Yaxley had sobered her up a little bit, and she no longer felt that dilapidating drowsiness. It was still there, weighing her down but she felt lighter now, more awake.

“Not yet,” said Avery. “When we get to the dungeons, I will. You’re hurting my arms.”

Hermione huffed and said, “I never asked you to carry me.”

“So I’ll just take you back to your room, then? Is that what you’re _asking_ me to do?”

She sent him a glare and he responded with a warning look, as if he was waiting for her to argue back, but she didn’t. She barely had the energy.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Avery asked her.

Hermione chewed at her lip, frowning at the floor. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He questioned, but she didn’t get the chance to answer for they stopped in front of a door. Avery nudged it open with his shoulder, and they entered the dungeon. It was a lot darker than the corridors they had previously been walking down and the smell hit her noise, contorting her face as she wrinkled it.

Avery placed her down, keeping his arm out just in case she wobbled. Hermione tested her strength. She could walk- that was a good thing. He dropped his arm, spun on his heel and directed them through the dungeons. Her eyes strayed to the cells.

The stone walls were dark and damp, and the room was long, illuminated only by swinging torches in brackets every metre to the right. The cells were tiny, and the people in them looked barely alive. Hermione swallowed, seeing their sallow skin and sunken eyes. They were dead in every sense of the word but the definition given.

“Shouldn’t someone be guarding them?” Hermione whispered, eyes flicking to the door and back to the prisoners.

Avery shot her a look. “No. Why waste Death Eaters down here? They’re not getting out anytime soon.”

She looked at him and he stared back. It was so scary sometimes, how little he cared. _That’s not true,_ a voice said at the back of her mind. _He cares about you._

Avery cleared his throat and looked away. He said, “What did you mean, ‘you don’t know?’”

Hermione rubbed her arms. The cold was seeping through her skin, chilling her insides and she shivered despite herself. Avery glanced at her then sighed. He slipped his arms out of his robes and passed them to her. She accepted them gratefully and the warmth washed over her like bliss.

“I _mean_ , I don’t know,” said Hermione, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the prisoners.

“How can you not know? You’ve been here for three weeks.”

Her head shot up at that. _Three weeks?_ She’d been here for _three weeks?_ How much of that had she been unconscious for?

Hermione tugged the robe tighter around her and said, “At first, Voldemort just came and… spoke to me. Every day, more or less. Often more than once. About myself, about the war, about _himself_.”

“Are you telling me,” Avery began, looking at her calmly, and it was only his calmness that gave away how absurd he found her story, “that you were a prisoner of the Dark Lord for three weeks and all he did to you was… _chat?”_

“Well,” said Hermione. “It was quite a nice change from being locked in a cell, only visited when they wanted to torture or kill you.”

“I can imagine.”

“And no. It wasn’t the only thing he did,” she said quietly.

Avery looked at her but she didn’t get to explain for they stopped in front of a stone wall. He slipped his wand out of his sleeve and tapped the bricks in a certain order, watching with disinterest as the stones trembled, slipping away to form a hole in the wall.

Hermione watched in awe. This was her escape, her salvation; it was a hole in a damp and dingy dungeon wall but she had never seen anything so enticing. Suddenly, something grabbed her wrist.

She bit back the shriek, leaping away but the person had an iron grip on her, almost bruising. Her head whipped up.

The prisoner in the nearest cell, a woman with wiry hair and powder-white skin, had pressed herself against the bars, reaching out. She rasped, eyes wide and frantic, “ _Please_. Take me with you. _Take me with you.”_

Hermione recoiled, stuttering for words as the other prisoners peered out from their cells. They looked at her and the hole behind her like a starved predator might look at its prey. A streak of red shot itself from the tip of Avery’s wand and the woman leapt back, howling in pain. He forced himself between her and the prisoner, snarling.

“Don’t touch her, you filth. Get back in your cell.”

Hermione couldn’t move, shocked as she stared at the woman, who had winced away from Avery. She raised her head again and looked at her with reproachful eyes.

“I’ll scream,” she whispered.

But Hermione didn’t get to watch it, for Avery had grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around and pushing her into the hole. She turned and watched as he tapped the stone, and the wall rebuilt itself, but not before the woman, whose wide eyes were fixed on her, opened her mouth and-

The wall sealed itself up and they were plunged into darkness. Immediately, Hermione felt panic sweep over her and her breaths came short and fast. She could only remember the darkness, how trapped and constricting it was, how the nightmares and monsters had played before her eyes again and again and again and how all that made sense was death-

“Hermione.”

Until that same voice saved her from it.

She looked at Avery. “Yes?”

He had illuminated his wand and the light from it pooled in front of them. It cast shadows over his marble face.

He said, “Nothing,” and they continued walking down the passageway. Here, the cold was more biting and pronounced and Hermione wanted to wrap the robes tighter around her. She wanted to drown in them.

“What about the woman?” She asked anxiously, glancing behind them.

“I’ll obliviate her when I go back,” Avery replied tonelessly. She looked at him, and was surprised to find it didn’t frighten her how cold he could be.

Avery said conversationally, “Is this _‘other thing’_ the reason why you were unconscious when I came for you? Your radio silence terrified your pets by the way. Every time I saw them, they nearly chewed my head off as if I was purposely withholding your wellbeing from them.”

“My- my friends?” Hermione repeated, and the hope flared inside of her. Then, she frowned. “You’ve been in touch with them?”

At the simple mention of him cavorting with her friends, his face changed and he looked deeply uncomfortable. He said, “It wasn’t my idea. The Potter boy cornered me in a raid-”

“ _James_ ,” she breathed, and her chest felt warm.

“Is that his name?” Avery asked, but he must not have really care for he didn’t give her time to reply. “I don’t know how he knew it was me but he did. He immobolised me and forced me to tell him everything I knew about your capture. I told him not to waste his life trying to come up with an escape plan because they wouldn’t make it past the front gate.”

“And?” Hermione pressed desperately. “What did James say?”

“He told me,” Avery said, staring at her, “that if I didn’t, what was it, ‘ _step up and grow a fucking spine,_ ’ he’d ‘ _show me exactly how the Order have held it out against Voldemort so far.’”_

A smile curled her lips, and she didn’t try to stop it. He frowned at her and said, “It’s lovely to know that the imagery of my demise brings you joy, especially when I’m risking my hide to save you-”

Hermione quickened her pace so she was walking next to him, and she brushed her hand with his. He looked at her. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

“ _Yeah_.” He rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away and she grinned at him. “Anyway, I didn’t fancy having Wonder Boy’s glasses shoved up my arse, and besides… I’d been keeping my tabs on you anyway so it didn’t hurt to tell him what I knew.”

She only registered one part of his explanation and she looked at him, surprised. “You were watching over me?”

Avery frowned but kept his eyes ahead of them. “What did you expect me to do? Leave you to Voldemort? Of course I was watching over you.”

“Like a guardian angel,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

“Or a dragon.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered calling him that. Mortified, her hands shot up to cover her face and she groaned. Avery sucked back a laugh, as she peered at him through her fingers. “I really called you that. Oh, God. I’m sorry, I-”

“-hold a deep and sinister grudge towards Slytherins?”

“- _was completely out of it,”_ she said firmly, glaring at him.

Avery smirked but nevertheless said, “And why was that exactly?”

Hermione faltered.

_“Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,” said Ron weakly, “and if I'm ever rude to you again-”_

_“- I'll know you're back to normal.”_

**_O_ **

_Those same eyes widened one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within._

**O**

_"Chin up, poppet," Fabian said, pausing in the doorway. He was smiling at her. It was a lot softer than the grin she was accustomed to seeing. "Things will get better."_

**O**

_His freckled face was pale beneath the blood and bruises that had formed there, and the whizzing lights of the magic were reflected in his eyes. He smiled slightly, and said, “Chin up, poppet. Things will get better."_

**O**

_“Life looks to be treating you well,” she commented. Regulus looked at her, eyes bright as they ran over her form. He had grown quite a bit since they’d all left school, and now towered above her._

_“I wish I could say the same for you,” he said cheekily._

**O**

_One minute he was there, the next minute he was a base to a pyramid of monsters, each ravaging his flesh, gorging his life out of his body. His screams echoed around the cavern, drowning out her own._

_And then there was silence-_

**“Hermione?”**

Not for the first time, Hermione jolted out of the nightmare, and the images assaulting her dropped away. She looked at Avery in shock. She hadn’t realised but they had stopped walking at some point, and the shadows swallowed both the way they had come and they direction they were going. Only Avery’s wand provided any form of light.

_That’s not true._

Avery watched her, a mixture of concern and alarm tinging his features and drowning his eyes. He reached out silently to rub the pad of his thumb across her cheeks, and she realised she’d been crying. She sniffed, wiping at her face and turned away from him.

“What did he do, Hermione?” Avery asked in a low voice.

And Hermione’s voice broke when she answered. “ _I don’t know.”_

They continued walking in silence. There wasn’t long left.

Avery glanced at her. She was no longer crying; her face was stoic and strong. It was so hard to remember what his life had been like before Hermione Granger had fired her spells and forced her way into it. It hadn’t always been doom and gloom, but the thunderstorms reigning overhead had seemed obdurate and the threat of death had loomed over him. It wasn’t that Avery hated life, or living. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed it. It’s just that sometimes, he forgot that an existence was valuable if there was no reason for it.

Why do you live?

_I don’t know._

Why do you exist?

_To save Hermione Granger._

“Is that a light?” She said suddenly.

Avery stared at her. _Yes_. _He supposed it was._

He shook his head, frowning, and redirected his attention to ahead of them. Sure enough, the tunnel was opening up and the outside light was beaming in, extending a welcoming hand out of the darkness. Avery wished he could take it.

Hermione ran ahead, and his robes fluttered behind her. She paused in the light.

_“James!”_

Hermione was out of the passageway before he could so much as call her name, running forwards.

There they were; James Potter looked so much different than she remembered. He was tall and lean but his hair was still messy. He was clean shaven and grinning at her and he caught her when she ran at him. His arms closed around her and he spun them round, squeezing her tight.

“You’re safe,” he murmured into her hair. She could feel his relief pounding through him.

“Of course I am,” Hermione whispered. “I have to be. You lot can’t very well look after yourself.”

They pulled away and James smiled at her. “Well, now we don’t have to.”

“Do I get a hug?” Sirius asked and she turned to him, grinning, before she launched herself at him. His arms were already waiting to catch her.

“We tried so hard, Mione,” he told her. “We tried to get you out. We tried every possible way. It was just-”

“Voldemort,” Hermione said simply, drawing back so she could hold his face in her hands. “It was Voldemort. There’s no escaping him.”

Sirius nodded, but she could see the guilt in his eyes and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t you dare blame yourself, Black!”

He swallowed, dropping his voice. “We thought you were… Avery gave us no indication that you were alive for _so long_ -”

“Yeah,” Hermione said quickly. She was about to tell him about the darkness, about Voldemort doing… well, s _omething_ to her, but the words stuck in her throat when she saw the troubled relief in Sirius’ eyes. Whatever he had done, it didn’t matter- she was safe _now._ “I was fine.”

“You know, I find it far too coincidental that Granger rhymes with danger,” James said light-heartedly. Hermione grinned at him.

“It appears God has a sense of irony, after all,” Avery said, finally joining them. He watched them as though he couldn’t care less for their reconciliation. “Sorry for intruding. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Although Sirius shot him a glare, Hermione smiled at him, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. She murmured, “Don’t leave.”

And he grudgingly patted her head, not saying anything but staying regardless. She seemed to feel this conclusion for she let go of him then.

James breathed in, straightening up to his full height. He stepped forward and held his hand out. Avery glanced at it, then back at his face.

“Thank you,” he said and the earnest nature only James Potter could properly articulate was deep and honest in his voice and face. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without your help.”

Avery raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, that’s simple. You would’ve stormed in like foolhardy Gryffindors and gotten yourself and Hermione killed.”

“He’s pushing my buttons,” Sirius murmured, looking up at the sky so that he didn’t have to look at Avery. Hermione smiled at their antics. _Some things never change_. Avery spared him a glance before returning his attention to James. He moved closer and shook his hand.

Avery looked at Sirius, hand lingering in James’, and said, “Have I earned a Christmas card yet?”

If Sirius was amused, he didn’t show it. Hermione, on the other hand, snorted.

The truce lasted barely a fraction of a second, before Avery moved away again. James looked at Hermione.

“You coming?”

She swallowed, nodding, and feeling a breathless smile stretch her lips. But before she left, she turned around and looked back at him. They stared at one another, into one another, and Avery raised his eyebrows.

Hermione started towards him, and he wrapped his arms around her when she got close enough. Hers looped around his neck and she kissed him like he was the freedom she had dreamt about.

_Eventually, the boy stepped forward and said, “Frédéric Avery.”_

_Hermione froze. This was not what she had expected. There was a small part of her screaming at the recognition of the name. She held out her hand and said, “Hermione Granger. Pleasure.”_

_Avery smiled, and it was a simple but miniscule tilt of his lips. He shook her hand gently. “I assure you, that is all mine.”_

**O**

_“You remind me of someone.”_

_He raised an eyebrow. "Was he annoyingly charming?"_

_"You got the annoying part right."_

_Rolling his eyes, Avery moved to sit on a buffet nearby. He even moved with a cat-like elegance, despite his tall stature._

_"You're not too charming yourself, you know," he said._

_Hermione replied, "And yet you keep coming back."_

**O**

_The bracelet was of the shiniest silver, which curved and twisted to form a series of small flowers. Hermione slipped it onto her wrist, relishing in the cold touch of the metal against her skin. It was then that she noticed a piece of parchment, which was blank with the exception of one sentence, written in an elegant scrawl:_

‘Look like the innocent flower.’

_Before she could stop herself, she felt her lips curl into a smile and let her finger trace the petals of one of the flowers. She couldn’t believe him. The bracelet was obviously expensive and regal, and far more than she deserved. Her heart was numb with shock._

**O**

_"You said you didn't want to fall. Do you still stand by that?"_

_Avery nodded. There was no uncertainty._

_"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed. "Because I can help you, but it won't be easy. We'll be tricking the darkest wizard the world has ever seen. There's a possibility we could both die." She swallowed, eyes cutting into his. "Do you trust me?"_

_He stared back at her, bewildered. "You're delusional," Avery said and she swore her heart plummeted. But then a small smirk curled his lips. "Of course I trust you."_

**O**

_He swallowed and when he spoke next, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His voice was little more than a whisper in the wind. "If the monster always dies at the end of the book, why am I still alive?”_

_Hermione looked at him, lips pursed tightly. She said firmly, "You are not a monster, Frédéric Avery."_

_"Oh really?" He asked, his voice increasing in volume; the anger almost palpable in the air. He tried to shuffle out of her lap, but she wouldn’t let him. "You don't even know me! You just showed up out of the blue, crashing into my life, acting all righteous and angelic but you don’t know me! You don't know half the things I've done-!"_

_"No," she agreed. She tried to remind herself that he was just upset, that he didn’t mean the things he said, but her eyes grew hot regardless. Hermione swallowed and she said, "But I know that you regret them and that you hate yourself for doing them because otherwise you wouldn't waste your time on speaking to me and sometimes you don't need to beg for redemption. Sometimes it comes and finds you."_

_"I don't deserve redemption," Avery said and his voice was now low, ragged and broken; a fractured sob that not even the stars could hear._

_"Maybe not, but I'm giving it to you anyway.” Hermione stared at him, his hands were clasped tightly in hers, and he was finally shattering. It was like he had been strong for so long, too long, and now his anguish was pouring out of him. Hermione was there to catch it. “You're forgiven, Avery. Whether you feel you deserve to be or not, I forgive you."_

_Avery stared at her then, with a little bit of disbelief tainting his red-rimmed eyes. Hermione stroked his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and she smiled a small smile. He melted into her, nestling his head in her knees and his eyes fluttered to a close. She waited until his breathing had evened out a bit, before she shuffled to get comfortable._

_“Stay,” Avery mumbled, and his eyes, barely visibly under his drooping eyelids, were locked on her. His hand was clutching hers so hard that both their knuckles had turned white. Hermione had no intention of going anywhere. “Please stay with me.”_

_“Of course,” she whispered._

**O**

_“You’re so undeniably stupid! I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I ever-”_

_The words stopped mid-way in his throat, and it seemed he wasn’t willing to let them leave his mouth._

_Hermione stared at him. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest, so hard that she could hear the vibrations in her ears. She said in a deathly quiet voice, “Go ahead, look me in the eye and tell me I mean nothing to you. Break me. I need to feel some type of emotion soon or I’ll end up as cold as you.”_

_Avery stared right back at her, and it looked like he was struggling with something. His throat tightened and he looked away. “I can’t,” he said. “You know I can’t do that. It would all be a lie.”_

**O**

_"If I'm not a monster, Hermione, what am I?" He asked calmly, finally looking at her, and he seemed so much more accepting of his position than he had yesterday. There was nothing at all in his face to show he cared._

_"You're Avery," she replied, and her voice was delicate. He simply stared and the silence evoked a desperation deep inside of her to say what she needed to say to him. It was something that she had avoided for as long as she could, but there were some things you simply had to voice. "You're not a monster. You can't be because I-"_

_But Hermione couldn't voice it._

_"You can love a monster,” Avery said quietly. His eyes were delving into her, and there was a darkness to them that made it so she could not look away. “It can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature."_

**O**

_“We never leave on the best of terms,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at her._

_“No,” Avery agreed. “We don’t. Which is odd, seeing as we get on so well.”_

_Hermione scowled, unsure as to whether he was being sarcastic or not. Nevertheless, she walked closer to him. He looked at her lazily, dark eyes sweeping her face like they usually did._

_She stared at him, and all of her words became crammed in her mouth. “I’m very fond of you,” she said, and before he could properly react, Hermione stepped forward and kissed his cheek. She didn’t hurry in moving away from him, and so, she both heard and felt his breath catch in his throat._

_His face was a bright pink, hot and flushed, when she finally stepped back and for the first time since she had met him, Avery smiled at her and said in a soft voice, “You’re delusional.”_

_A grin curled at Hermione’s lips and she said, “So I’ve been told.”_

**O**

_“YOU KNEW!” She yelled, sobbing. “You knew…”_

_He tried to catch her flailing wrists and when he did, he trapped them between their bodies and just held her to him. His arms were tight around her and she wanted to break from his embrace and run because he had killed Gideon and Fabian, but she couldn’t because she needed this comfort. She sobbed into his chest, gripping his shirt as tightly as she possibly could._

_A few minutes passed, where Hermione heaved and eventually, her sobs subsided to a weep every now and then. Avery kept his arms firmly around her, as if he could keep her from shattering._

Hermione kissed him because she hadn’t kissed him for all of the other times, because Avery had always been there for her to lean on or unleash her fury on, for her to temporarily shift some of the weight of the world onto his shoulders. And he hadn’t questioned her once. He frayed her nerves and infuriated her, but he had somehow wormed his way under her skin and she realised that, much like the Marauders, much like Regulus, Avery was someone who made the life in this time worth living. He made her want to stay and fight for as long as she could. If only for the simple fact that he would be right there fighting next to her.

“Come on,” Sirius whined, almost in disgust. “Do you really have to do it in front of me?”

She laughed against his mouth, feeling Avery smirk, before she pulled away. For once, his dark eyes weren’t blank and he must’ve known he was open because he pushed her forwards, turning his head to the side and smiling.

Once he’d regained himself, he glanced at Sirius and waved. Hermione laughed again, swatting him for his cheek. Avery swooped down and pressed another lingering kiss to her lips, and she felt her desire to go home waver.

She whispered against his lips, “Come with me.”

Avery swallowed. “You know I can’t.”

She didn’t know what answer she had been expecting because he was right. Of course he was. Hermione drew back because she knew she had to, and turned around to leave. She jogged to catch her friends up and then she looked back, suddenly realising she was still wearing his robe. “Oh,” she said.

Avery shook his head. “Keep it,” he told her. “You can smell it when you miss imprisonment.”

Hermione felt an amused smile pull at her face and she shot him a warning look, eyes flashing, but it was half-hearted. In a war, joke material was limited. You had to make the most of what you had.

She offered him a final smile, beaming, and the light shone past her, framing her body. Avery just stared at her.

Why do you live?

_For her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I actually squealed writing this chapter. Like, I had to stop and read some out to my mum (who could honestly not care less!) because I loved it so much! By the way, both my parents think you are all lovely people- I sometimes read them your reviews haha!   
> I’m afraid to say that my updates won’t be as frequent or as regular as they have been the past week. I’m going to London for a couple days this week to see family, and then again next weekend for their wedding! I’m going to be a bridesmaid for the first ever time!!   
> Hopefully, I’ll still have time to write, but maybe not as much time to upload. Hopefully, this chapter (it’s a long one because of all the flashbacks, showing the progression of their relationship) sates you:) I think it’s been long overdue and you deserve this. I really really hope you like it.   
> Also, credit and a big big BIG thank you to MiemsChan who is not only a beautiful person but a beautiful person with amazing ideas! I could not have written most of this without your inspiration nor encouragement so thank you! This chapter is for you (and all the other Avermione? Havery? shippers who have been SO PATIENT!)


	77. Chapter 77

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied…

 

** Chapter 77-  The Church **

**May 1980**

 

“A Death Eater?” Lily questioned when Hermione next went to visit her at Godric’s Hollow. It appeared she was on ‘house arrest’ as the redhead had grudgingly dubbed it, claiming James would not let her leave the house, even if it was to the new Headquarters.

In her absence, the Order had erected a new place of meeting in an abandoned Muggle clinic. On the outside, it looked no more in use than its title suggested, but the glamour was deceiving and the wards placed on it had been thoroughly and deceptively applied. Inside, on the other hand, was a headquarters worthy of the Order of the Phoenix. Marlene and Lily (before James had refused to let her out) had altered the layout, resulting in a division of seven bedrooms, a kitchen, living room and planning room. Hermione had moved into one of these rooms, and when Sirius and James had returned her safely, she had been greeted by a crowd of people, all cheering and grinning at the soundness of her wellbeing. Even Dumbledore was stood in the corner of the main room, watching her closely. Hermione had avoided looking at him altogether; she had a feeling he would be able to see through her, see her every conversation with Voldemort and Hermione wasn’t sure why, but the thought unnerved her. She hadn’t really felt like partying anyway, however, and had retired to her new room, pausing in the doorway when she saw the little box on her bed.

A frown creasing her eyebrows, Hermione had moved closer, taking the lid off and sucking in a breath when she saw the contents.

“I saved what I could,” Caradoc said from behind her. He moved further into the room and leaned against her desk.

Inside the box was her flower press, her beaded bag, the photographs Peter had given her for her first Christmas in the past, and her battered and beloved copy of Peter Pan. Hermione felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight of it, and she ran her finger over the gold decoration.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Caradoc simply nodded and turned to leave.

He paused in the doorway, looking back. His eyes were earnest. “I’m glad your back, Granger.”

Hermione had told them all about Datner- she had to- but she was almost surprised at the lack of emotion she felt when retelling the story of his forced betrayal. The Order had been consumed in silence for a moment or two.

“That’s why Fabian and Gideon died,” Benjy had said, the first one to break it. He was no longer the carefree and spirited joker he had been when she’d first met him. Their deaths had impacted him greatly.

“He didn’t do it by choice,” Caradoc gritted out. Hermione felt a sliver of pity for him; she knew, as the leaders, they’d been close.  

Emmeline looked between the two of them anxiously, then back at Hermione and said, before anything more could be said on the matter, “What else happened? Did they do anything to _you?”_

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated. There was no point worrying them all about whatever Voldemort had done to her. Admittedly, now she was back home, she didn’t feel scared, nor particularly concerned about it. _That’s a lie._ Hermione pretended she couldn’t hear this voice. _You can still feel the darkness._

It was true that she could. The darkness seemed to linger around everything; a think smog that curled by her feet, touching everything in her world. But she tried to ignore it, because Hermione Granger didn’t like what she didn’t know.

She _definitely_ wasn’t going to tell them about Avery.

“No,” she answered. “He just came in and goaded me a lot, informing me of his victories against you, knowing I could do nothing to stop him.”

“Well, we held out our own,” Sirius said loudly, grinning at them and slapping her on the back. “But it is still a relief to have you back, sweetheart. We missed you.”

Hermione was now sat in the living room of Godric’s Hollow, with a cup of tea clutched in her hands. Lily made the best teas, always adding a spoonful of honey for extra sweetness. Despite not telling the Order about the dragon who had saved her (they’d been told by James and Sirius that she had managed to escape herself, and send message for them to meet her), she told Lily as soon as she’d seen her. The pregnant lady seemed to know _something_ (Hermione blamed hormones for her suspiciousness- she was suspicious of the damn _cat_ for God’s sake!) and had pressed until eventually, she’d gotten it out of her.

In all honesty, (though she would never voice it aloud in front of the pregnant woman), Hermione could see why James didn’t want her leaving their home. Lily’s stomach was large now, seeing as she was heavily into her pregnancy, and she was waddling about whenever she had to move. Currently, she was laid across her settee, with a bowl of ice-cream resting on her bump. Hermione’s lips tilted into a fond smile at the sight of her.

She shuffled uncomfortably at the question and said, “He’s not _really_ a Death Eater…”

Lily didn’t seem to care about his status, for she shoved a spoonful of ice-cream into her mouth and said, around the spoon, as if Hermione hadn’t replied, “A Death Eater who loves you.”

Hermione blushed, taking a sip of her tea. Lily smirked.

“It’s kinda like Romeo and Juliet really, isn’t it?” She continued. Hermione grimaced.

“ _God_ , I hope not. I don’t fancy having to die for him anytime soon!”

Lily paused, thoughtful, mouth full of ice-cream once more. She said, “Would you?”

“Would I what?” Asked Hermione.

“Would you die for him?”

Hermione didn’t even have to think about it. It was Avery. She would burn the world down for him if he only asked. Before she had time to reply, Lily let out an irritated yell, looking down at her bump as though it had just eaten her ice-cream.

“What?” Hermione questioned, alarmed.

“ _Why, you little bugger!”_

Lily moved the bowl and put it on the floor, where Elvendork sniffed it disinterestedly. She shot Hermione a shocked look and said, “He keeps kicking me!”

Hermione shoved her cup of tea onto the closest surface, jumping off the chair and running to kneel by Lily’s side. They shared a glance, then Lily yowled again and glared at her stomach.

“How would you like it if I kicked you, you bastard?” Lily murmured darkly.

Hermione tried to bite back her amusement but the laughter leaked into her voice when she said, “Lily… You’re threatening a foetus.”

 _“I don’t care!”_ She whined. “He’s a _painful_ foetus!”

Hermione shook her head at her friend’s temper, but returned her eyes to the bump. She lifted her hand up, then paused, glancing at Lily for permission. The redhead looked unimpressed, and shrugged, before she picked up her ice-cream and began eating it again.

Hermione placed her hand gently on Lily’s stomach, breath hitching in her throat when she felt the baby kick. She leaned close and whispered, barely able to control her smile, _“Hello Harry.”_

“Naming my baby for me, are we Granger?” Lily teased, watching her over the top of her spoon. Hermione jumped and offered her a sheepish grin.

Lily’s lips curled into a smirk but she hummed. “No. I like it. _Harry.”_ She tasted the name and her smirk softened. “Harry is good.”

It was at that moment that James burst through the door, Caradoc wandering after him. His wand was tucked in his belt and his sleeves were rolled up. Caradoc waved at them. James seemed to be looking for something, but he spared them a glance and said pleasantly, “Hello ladies.”

Hermione greeted him back, but Lily squinted at him. She switched her eyes to Hermione and raised an eyebrow. _Wait for it._

“Lily, dear, you don’t happen to know where my jacket is, do you?” James asked, distress tinging his voice.

She rolled her eyes at Hermione but then pasted on a docile smile and said, “It’s in the kitchen, dear.”

James’ eyes widened and he popped a kiss on her forehead as he passed, pausing when he saw the ice-cream. Lily scowled, but lifted the spoon above her head and he gratefully took some.

“I love you,” he told her. She mimicked him, repeating the words in a high pitched voice, glowering at the grin he sent Hermione. A pregnant Lily Evans did not like to share her ice-cream.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked curiously.

Caradoc raised his eyebrows. “Mission. Apparently, some Death Eaters have gotten a bit… overexcited at a Muggle church. Terrorising the locals. We’re going to put a stop to it.”

“I’ll come,” she said, standing up.

She started towards the door, missing the look shared between James and Lily.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said James, holding his arm out to stop her.

Hermione glanced down at it then back at his face, gauging whether he was seriously trying to stop her from leaving. She realised with shock that he was. Inhaling deeply, she said, “James, I suggest you withdraw your arm or I’m going to break it.”

His eyes widened in alarm for a moment, and Caradoc let out a low whistle. “Looks like you’ve spent too much time with the snakes, kid.”

“Hermione, you’ve been imprisoned for _three weeks_. By _Voldemort!”_ James stressed. “I hate to be the one to point it out but I think you should stay here and rest-”

 _“Rest?!”_ Hermione repeated, and she laughed hysterically. James looked at her like she was crazy and she briefly pondered her sanity. It didn’t bother her too much- spending time with the Dark Lord was bound to loosen a few screws. “All I’ve done for _three bloody weeks_ is rest!”

“Hermione…”

“I want to fight!”

James sent Lily a desperate look, clearly begging her to try and control her friend but Lily shrugged, sucking on another spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth. Caradoc glanced between them and said, “If it makes you feel better, she can stick with me. Be my second.”

“Your _second_?” Hermione repeated mournfully. In other words, she’d watch his back, out of the way of the fighting, whilst he did all the dirty work. She put her hands on her hips. There was no way she would be complacent with sitting back and _watching_.

Caradoc sighed and raised his eyebrows at her. _Play along._

“Oh,” said Hermione, realising what he was doing for her. She swallowed, looking at James. “Yeah. If I’m his second, I won’t really take part in any of the violence. I’m out of the way.”

James looked unconvinced, knowing that if she came along, she’d fight, but he seemed to notice that he had already lost. “ _Fine_.”

Hermione sealed her lips to hide her grin. It wouldn’t do well to piss him off by acting smug. He’d probably act like her babysitter just to spite her.

Lily reached out and touched her hand. “You better make it back for Harry,” she warned. Hermione beamed at her.

“Harry?” James repeated dubiously, looking between the two women. “Have we decided on a name?”

“Yes, we have.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in and asked, “Do I get a say in this?”

Without missing a beat, Lily batted her eyelashes and said sweetly, “Are you pushing this baby out of your genitals?”

James opened his mouth to reply, but the look of shock froze on his face. Hermione snorted. Caradoc raised his eyebrows at her thinly veiled bluntness. James nodded.

“Fair point,” he agreed, dropping down to kiss her cheek before he led the three of them away.

**oOoOoOo**

They apparated to a graveyard, and the screams were quick to assault Hermione’s ears.

Moody was already there, waiting for them, when they arrived. From the knee down, was a thick, wooden peg and his strapped-on eye was whizzing energetically, looking everywhere but at the three of them. He looked surprised to see her.

“Good to see you’re okay, pip,” he said gruffly, ruffling her hair up and Hermione grinned, knowing this was the most affection the grisly Auror had likely ever showed. “Ready to get some Death Eaters?”

She smirked. “I always am.”

“Right. Potter and I will round up the ones on the street. You two scope the church, see if there are any stragglers. Understood?” A clattering crash, followed by a long shriek that was cut dreadfully short, pierced their conversation and all of their heads whipped in the direction it came from. Moody swung his leg round and started moving, with a gruff order of, “Here we go.”

Caradoc wasted no time, setting off at a sprint to reach the church faster. Hermione followed, feeling the summer wind rush through her hair and she closed her eyes briefly, allowing the thrill of the oncoming fight to wash over her. She knew it was wrong to like the feeling that duelling instigated in her, but it was enthralling.

“Hermione!” James called after her. The wind tore at his words. “Remember, you’re his second-!”

She heard Moody’s bark of laughter at the thought of her sitting back and letting anyone else do the work for her. The church was smoking when she got there. Half of the ceiling had collapsed in, and Hermione had a sick feeling that the muffled screams she had heard when they’d first gotten here came from there. It was deathly quiet now.

Caradoc was way ahead of her and he turned around and flashed her a grin. He tipped his head and said, “To the good life, eh, Granger?”

Hermione smiled at him, and he disappeared into the church. The graveyard was swallowed by silence.

She stepped carefully, eyes scanning the cemetery. Some of the tombstones towered above even her and she made sure to keep her breathing quiet so that she could hear if anyone was creeping up on her. They wouldn’t be easy to fight around.

As she progressed, she heard a string of whimpers and sobs, and Hermione glanced behind her before she followed the sound. Behind a particularly large gravestone, she saw a big bulk of a Death Eater pawing a Muggle woman. He was stripping her down, drawing crude art on her skin with the piercing and scorching tip of his wand. Blood dribbled from the patterns he twirled and twisted on her body. The woman was convulsing.

“ _Stupefy!”_ Hermione shouted, disgust making her voice loud and ringing. The oaf barely had the chance to glance her way when the spell collided with him, sending him flying backwards. His back hit the face of a second tombstone, and there was a sickening crack but she hardly worried about his wellbeing, as she raced over to the woman. The poor lady stared at her, fear prominent in her eyes and she winced away.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, holding her arms up in surrender to show her she wasn’t going to hurt her. “You’re safe now. It’s alright. Here, let me heal you. Is that- is that okay? Will you let me help you?”

The woman watched her, and Hermione realised she was shivering something shocking. After a moment or two, the woman must’ve seen whatever honesty she was looking for in Hermione’s eyes for she nodded and allowed her to move closer and take her arm.

First of all, Hermione repaired the torn material of her clothes, allowing the woman to slide her shirt back onto her shoulder hastily. She then took gentle hold of her arms, one at a time, and healed the cuts, sealing them up and cleaning any blood off of her.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered brokenly. Hermione swallowed and she couldn’t meet the lady’s eyes as she finished healing her. Then, she slowly raised her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and the woman’s face clouded with confusion, then fell blank when Hermione lifted her wand to her temple.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” she murmured. When her eyes hazed over, Hermione said, “You were at the Church. The ceiling collapsed because the building is old. Luckily you managed to get out unscathed. You can’t remember much, you must’ve hit your head.”

The lady nodded, repeating everything she’d just heard, and the white light that was streaming from the end of her wand dissipated into nothing. “Now go home,” Hermione told her. The woman did as she said.

Hermione watched her leave, making sure she made it out of the graveyard, before she descended on the unconscious Death Eater. He was sprawled out, blood dribbling from his head where he must’ve hit it.

Hermione knelt down beside him, pressing the tip of her wand to his head and there was no guilt this time round when she erased his memory. She wished she had the gall to kill him, but this would have to do.

She heard the crack of a branch beneath his feet before he even had chance to fire a spell and Hermione swung round, nonverbally producing a shield charm that absorbed the red streak. She recognised the colour and somehow, she didn’t think he’d just cast a Stupefy at her. That was far too tame.

She didn’t know who the Death Eater was, but his face was contorted in hatred and he spat at the nearest gravestone. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Come now, did your mother never teach you to respect the dead?”

He snarled at her, slashing his wand forward and hissing, “ _Crucio!”_

Hermione stepped out of the way, and she felt the spell whiz past her body. Immediately, she thought, ‘ _Petrificus Totalus!’_

Her opponent swiped down and his magic shielded him from her spell. She cursed. It looked like this one actually knew how to duel.

Within a blink of an eye, he smirked cruelly and fired several spells in quick procession, of various colours, and Hermione was forced backwards from the impact of each one as they hit her shield. She murmured, “ _Avis_ ,” and the flock of birds appeared above her, but before she sent them away, she thought, ‘ _Gemino!_ ’

Hermione, and the Death Eater, watched as the birds doubled in number, then doubled again, until she had a cloud of them, an army, above her head. She lifted her wand, sliding it higher, and they increased in size. She locked eyes with her opponent and the breathless smirk curled her lips, before she said, “ _Oppugno_.”

Hermione had used this spell only twice before. The first had been when the love of her life Ronald Weasley was being his usual oblivious self, completely inconsiderate of her feelings as he had been too busy trying to eat Lavender’s face off to realise she was crying. The second was when a prestigious Auror had tried to outsmart her and she’d shown him up, in the most spectacular sense of the word. But those two times had been harmless. This time, her birds had been created to kill.

They swooped and dived, pecked at the screaming Death Eater’s skin and eyes and scalp. He raised his wand to try and spell them away or defend himself, but Hermione nonverbally disarmed him and it went flying into her awaiting hand. She stood, panting slightly, but overall fine and stared as the man writhed and ducked away, trying to hide himself to minimalize his injuries.

Hermione watched and she felt a sick satisfaction coil in the pit of her stomach. She watched as he fell to his knees, the screams becoming chokes. She watched as he lifted his head and begged her for mercy.

And she felt nothing.

“ _Hermione!”_

There were arms on her, trying to push her wand down to stop the birds from attacking but the action was futile. Her magic far exceeded her wand. It pulsed from her entire being.

“Hermione, stop! You’re going to kill him!”

She did, but only because she recognised the voice calling to her. It had called to her before. She dropped her magic, and it felt like the atmosphere around her became deliriously light again. When had her magic become so heavy?

Avery stood in front of her now, eyes slightly perturbed as he looked at her. He looked bruised- she hadn’t realised he would be here. Regarding him, she wondered why he had stopped her from killing the man. He had most likely killed and tortured countless others. But she supposed, real or not, the Death Eater was Avery’s associate. They may even be friends. Hermione shook off his arms and moved around him to the Death Eater on the floor.

She stood over him, her eyes staring into his. He was half-dead, it seemed. His skin had been torn apart and there was blood bubbling up from the wounds. Clumps of hair had been plucked from his scalp, which was pink and blistered. She felt no guilt. She pointed her wand between his eyes and said, “ _Obliviate_.”

The white light was ephemeral and the Death Eater slumped into unconsciousness. Avery clucked his tongue from behind her and said, “Ah. So you’re the one responsible for our decreasing numbers.”

“We don’t like to kill people,” Hermione told him. “It’s the next best thing.”

He regarded her steadily. “That didn’t seem the case a few moments ago, darling. In fact, you looked like you were rather enjoying it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have killed him,” snapped Hermione, shoving her wand in her pocket and shooting him a scathing glare. Avery simply raised his eyebrows and she wavered in her conviction. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure whether she would’ve killed him or not. She was glad Avery had intervened when he had. She frowned at him, trying to appear unconcerned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Confessing my sins,” he replied languidly. “And yourself?”

“I’m more of a choir girl,” Hermione said, nodding. They shared an amused glance and then she heard a yell.

Her head shot to the church. The rest of the ceiling was crumbling, threatening to collapse in.

_Caradoc was way ahead of her and he turned around and flashed her a grin. He tipped his head and said, “To the good life, eh, Granger?”_

_Hermione smiled at him, and he disappeared into the church._

“ _Caradoc_ ,” she whispered, eyes wide. She started running, racing to the church because she had to warn him! She had to get him out of there-

She heard a shout behind her, “Hermione!”

And then the church obliterated. The ceiling fell in, whether by magic or just because the structure was too weak to support it, she didn’t know, but it fell in regardless. The beams crashed to the floor, the brickwork disintegrating and the smoke from the ruin billowed up. Hermione stood, and stared. Her heart felt to plummet with the rest of the building.

Avery wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back. She kicked and writhed and clawed at him, doing everything to get away, to run into the church and save Caradoc but there was some small part of her that knew it was too late. No one could survive that.

“He’s gone, Hermione,” Avery said forcefully, his voice hot in her ear. He shook her for emphasis. “He’s gone.”

And Hermione grew slack in his arms because she knew it was true. Caradoc was gone, tangled within the debris of the church he had been sent to protect. He had never gotten to see that beautiful world.

“Hermione!” She heard James yelling her name and turned in Avery’s hold, spotting her friend over his arm. Avery let her go.

“You’re alright,” he breathed, concerned eyes checking over her face for any sign of an injury. Then, they grew questioning. “Caradoc-?”

“He was in the church,” Hermione told him numbly. James’ face loosened, and he skipped a breath. “There was nothing I could do. He was in the church-”

“I know,” James said, swallowing tightly. He took her into his arms, and she knew from the way his chest heaved that he needed the comfort as well. His hand rested against the back of her head.

Avery wiped at the dirt on his face and she stared at him over James’ shoulder. Hermione was numb with shock. She couldn’t believe that Caradoc was gone.

She was his second. And she hadn’t watched his back.

**oOoOoOo**

Headquarters was oddly quiet without Caradoc there to inhabit it. Of course, people came and went all the time, but only Caradoc was the steady heart of the place they had assigned as the meeting spot. Without him, this clinic seemed like an imposter. Hermione doubted it would ever be the same.

She couldn’t sleep that night, so she slipped out of her bedroom and wandered the halls. There was not another soul awake. At least, that’s what she thought until she heard the soft humming of a Led Zeppelin song. She followed the sound.

This garden was similar to the last garden their headquarters had had in the sense that it was small and box-like and unloved in the bland sort of way. Hermione stepped outside and recognised who it was immediately.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” She asked.

Sirius spared her a glance and his face cleared. He sat up slightly. “No, uh, I guess not,” he replied. “It’s a stupid question if I ask you the same thing?”

A humourless smile ghosted her lips. “I’m not sleeping tonight.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, swallowing. “I heard what happened. Listen, Hermione. I knew you two were close, I’m sorry… but there’s nothing you could’ve-”

“Why weren’t you on the mission today?” Hermione cut him off, because the lie was too painful for her to hear right now, sitting down on the grass beside him.

Sirius sucked in a deep breath, but he tried to pretend she hadn’t avoided the subject, and said, “James volunteered before me.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, glancing up. It was dark, and the sky had already swept them under the carpet of night, but she didn’t feel tired. Not in the slightest. She felt wide awake.

“I think he’s scared I’m going to do something stupid,” said Sirius, leaning back and tipping his head to the stars.

Hermione watched him. “Are you?”

Although normally, he would’ve answered sarcastically, he was contemplative, a slight crease between his eyebrows. “No,” he said. “Not unless the situation calls for a moment of stupidity.”

Hermione kept her gaze on him because there was something in his voice that threw her off. She said straightforwardly, “You’re talking about dying.”

There was no room for arguing, or even denying it and Sirius seemed to know this but he didn’t so much as spare her a guilty glance. He just shrugged. She licked her lips and said carefully, “Just because there are things worth dying for, doesn't mean you should die for them.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not scared of death, which everyone seems to think I am-”

“You should be,” said Hermione, cutting him off. “And that’s not the reason James doesn’t want you to fight anymore. It’s the opposite, actually. He knows you’re not scared of death and that’s exactly what terrifies him.”

Sirius had lowered his eyes to the floor, and they caught on a single forget-me-not flower, fluttering slightly in the snores of the wind. She continued in a quiet voice, “He doesn’t want you out there because he knows that if something threatened your life, you wouldn’t flinch away from it. And whilst you view that as your advantage… Sirius, you don’t understand how scary that is for the rest of us. You’re like a bomb. Only you’re not afraid if you go off… And we’re the collateral damage you leave behind.”

There were a few moments of silence and they couldn’t hear a single thing. No one stirred. It was like they were the only two people on the planet. With the way this war was going, someday, that might be true.

“Does it ever stop?” Sirius mumbled. His eyes were locked on her, and the starlight danced inside of the blackness lurking there. Hermione stared at him. “The fighting. The death… Any of it. All of it.

“No,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but honest, and although she had considered lying, the truth burnt her lips.

He didn’t seem surprised at her answer, only resigned. He’d known it all along.

“Was this what it was like for you? In your time?”

Hermione was surprised by this question; it wasn’t often that they queried about the future. She thought about it. She couldn’t remember the exact moment that the world got dark; she only remembered the way she looked up at the sky one day and noticed with sudden shock that it was very grey and very impenetrable and very looming, and there was no light it could possibly shed.

She licked her lips and said, “Being friends with Harry meant that ever since I first stepped foot in Hogwarts, I was introduced to the darkest of things… We didn’t even notice there was a war brewing until someone-” The scene of the man, with the ragged face and long hair, with the dark eyes and youthful grin, falling backwards, arching delicately, flashed across her mind. Hermione swallowed. She couldn’t look at him. “-died,” she finished lamely.

Sirius continued to watch her. He was sat with one leg stretched out in front of him, and one bent so he could rest his arm across the top of his knee. He let his head drop forward and said with a heavy sigh, “What are we going to do?”

She wanted to shrug because she didn’t know, but there was something in his voice, some crack, that stopped her. Hermione raised her eyes to him.

She thought of the boy with the lightning bolt scar, and the broken heart, who died for the world.

She thought of the boy with the fiery hair and the blue eyes, who died for love _._

She thought of the boy with the ice cold exterior, the one who was forced to kill and be killed, the one with no decision at all, who died for the life he should’ve lived.

She thought of the boy with the dark eyes and the star name who had never gotten a chance to grow up because death had dragged him to the watery depths, who died for _her._

She thought of the man with the cynical heart and the meticulous mind, whose trust had made her feel worthy for the first time in a long time, who died for _the good life._

Hermione couldn’t let the fact that she had this choice, this _life_ , right here, right now, slip through her fingers.

And she said, “We do what we’ve always done. We fight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've paid attention to the chapters, you'll realise something is off about this one which gives you a small plot-twist, nothing major though. Just letting you know:)   
> Badass Hermione is back… She has been quite teary in this fic, but it’s a lot more angsty than I initially realised haha. Oops! Hopefully, this restores your hope in her! But she’s a lot darker than usual.


	78. Chapter 78- The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh, this chapter sucks! I really wanted to make this chapter good and sad for you all, but it ended up being dreary and rubbish. I wanted to update for you so I might just change it tomorrow. You know, when it's not 1am and I'm not dying from sleep exhaustion, so much so that every word that I write irritates me. Even so, tell me what you think? Oh I'm so sorry this is so bad.

** Chapter 78- The Funeral **

**June 1980**

 

The group of friends had changed drastically since their time at Hogwarts. Once upon a time, they were careless and free, running down the banks of the Black Lake and stargazing in the middle of the empty Quidditch Pitch. Their biggest worry had been how long a foot of parchment in Potions was (and how they could ramble on about all the negative effects of the Draught of Living Death just to reach that foot of parchment), and whether or not they were going to spend Valentine’s Day mocking the couples in Madam Puddifoot's, or whether they _would_ be one of the couples in the frilly tea shop window being mocked. It was odd how quietly they had all decayed.

Marlene slept around a lot- they never knew with who. She just turned up in the morning, with mussed up hair and smudged lipstick, waltzing through the front door of Headquarters with her heels dangling from one finger. She would head straight to her room and they wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day; once the door had clicked to a close behind her, you would hear her crying. At first, there had been silence with the occasional sniffle, but now Marlene sobbed, sometimes screamed.

“Why does she do it?” Hermione asked one day.

She and Dorcas were tidying up Headquarters, pausing when their friend had made an appearance and the crying had started. The other girl thought for a moment, forgetting about the cloth hanging over her arm.

“She’s got so much love inside of her,” Dorcas said, staring at the closed door, “that it feels like she might implode. I think she’s trying to get rid of it all.”

Hermione had looked back at the door and wondered whether it was possible, to get rid of all that love. From the looks of Marlene, it wasn’t.

But it was often that she thought about what Dorcas had said. _She_ , at least, seemed to be coping. Dorcas and Emmeline scarcely saw one another but when they did, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist. Hermione tried not to stare, but their happiness radiated off of them, absolving any room they happened to be in of all darkness. They were like their very own candle in a pitch black planet.

Mary and Peter were the same. The two of them didn't go on many missions and were barely seen around Headquarters but when they made their presence known, they acted like the sweetest of young lovers, smiling and touching and staring at one another. It was odd and somewhat precious how little their love had changed. Hermione prayed to any God listening that He would cherish them just a little while longer. They deserved the distraction, however short-lived and pointless it would prove to be.

She noticed that this seemed to be the case for all of the couples. Maybe surviving was easier when part of your soul was within another person. Lily and James certainly seemed to vouch for that. For them, it was almost like the war wasn’t ravaging the only existence they would ever know. They bickered about simple things, like keeping the lamp on at night when they were sleeping, and leaving the oven on, but James still went out and bought her ice-cream when her cravings were bad, even if it was the middle of the night, and Lily would still sing him to sleep, fingers threaded through his hair, when he’d just come back from a raid. Sometimes, he had to microwave rice at some ridiculous hour like 2am. The two of them would sit on their bed in the orange lamplight, with The Beatles softly playing in the background on the tinny, shitty radio they’d bought at a charity shop years ago to make their new home feel a little less empty, and Lily would eat the burnt rice straight from the packet. She savoured every mouthful, making little but quite amusing noises, as though she’d been starved for days. James simply watched her, exclaiming how much of an abomination it was to eat rice in clumps, without breaking it up first but his eyes would always be soft, the look in them fond. Lily just glared at him, occasionally waving her fork threateningly in his direction, but she was harmless and he knew it. At one point, she got to this really stuck together bit and started laughing, nearly choking, tears running down her face.

“You’ve managed to burn rice!” Lily gasped and her mirth broke the serenity of the night. “What kind of an idiot can’t even microwave rice?”

James scowled at her, but the pinkness of his face and ears gave away how flustered he was and he stood up, trying to wrestle the rice out of her hands to go make her some more (hopefully, _not_ burnt this time). Lily held it out of his reach, laughing, “Really, James, it’s fine. I’ll just eat your burnt rice.”

He looked at her incredulously. “Well, what kind of weirdo sends their husband down to cook rice at 2 in the morning?!”

Lily faltered slightly, mouth agape.

“I am _pregnant_ , James,” she exclaimed. “I have _YOUR_ baby growing inside of me and making me feel like this. Just be glad all _you_ have to do is microwave rice because _I’m_ going to have to force this thing out of my lady place soon!”

His face dropped, and guilt instantly flooded. James, the muppet, actually looked apologetic and embarrassed. He sat back down opposite her, and the light flickered and the old radio stuttered into static and silence between the melodic voice of John Lennon. In this time, Lily stared at James and James stared at Lily and she said, “I know it will all be okay. I know I'll be okay because I have you and you have me and Harry will be okay because he'll have both of us, and we'll keep him safe... I promise.”

James had never trusted anyone more.

Hermione wondered whether this blinded trust made you weaker, or stronger, whether it made you brave or stupid. But they were alive, weren’t they? They were barely coping but they were alive. She guessed that had to count for something.

Everyone treated war differently- everyone had different coping mechanisms: Marlene pretended she was made of steel and nothing could ever break her; Dorcas fought, envisioning each Death Eater she took out was Voldemort himself; Mary blissfully ignored the death and fear around her. Coping mechanisms were not devices that were praised for their effectiveness. Nor should they be, for whilst each of their coping mechanisms differed, not one of them worked in the slightest. For Peter, it was crying so hard you could barely breathe, losing yourself in the bid of escaping everything bad in the world but what good did that do when people still died and you found that you’d run out of tears to cry for them?

For Sirius, it was people, immersing himself in a throng of lives, secluding himself in his very own bubble of happiness, where everything was right and nothing was wrong, or screaming because things were unfair, and it wasn't fair, _it was not fair._ He was an oxymoron, an explosion of both immense happiness and crippling sadness all at once, in a blinding flash of white light, and Hermione remembered thinking he was a supernova. She wondered whether she would witness his destruction.

James, on the other hand, tried to forget about it all, because he knew the importance of happiness. He knew that if someone walked past him and saw him smile or heard him laugh, that person would be rejuvenated with hope, because that was how this worked. He knew that this was a war and it wasn’t going to end if he gave in to the lodging terror inside of him that his son would grow up without a father, so he fought and he planned and then he went home to his pregnant wife and loved her more than he ever thought was humanely possible. It was enough to get them both through.

Remus just didn't react. He shut off. When things got bad, Remus would shut down on them. He would refuse to come out of his room, or refuse to rest and volunteer for every mission they offered up. He stopped eating. He stopped taking his potions and refused to let anyone help him with anything. He stopped caring. It was the worst with Remus, Hermione thought, because it was like he was already dead.

But he wasn’t. None of them were. They were _alive_! They were alive but the group of friends weren’t exactly the same. Now, they were soundless and forlorn. They had been ripped and clawed at, escaped Death by a whisper of empty space between his fingertips and their erratic hearts. Their biggest fear threatened to destroy them, haunting every stolen smile and selfish second of ephemeral happiness; they were going to die.

Perhaps it wasn’t the truth. Perhaps they were all being a tad melodramatic. It didn’t really matter. When you were in a war, and you were fighting for your life, and your friends were there alongside you, it made perfect sense to fear the end. Or the unknown. Because that _was_ the truth. Maybe it wasn’t Death that was waiting for them, maybe he didn’t even exist- but as life crawled on, refusing to stop for anyone, not even for their frigid fear, they realised that, actually, they had no idea what they were doing, and they had even less of an idea where they were going to end up.

And it terrified them.

**oOoOoOo**

There was no body to bury but they had a funeral anyway.

Hermione and Avery stood on the top of the little hill behind the rich Muggle lady’s house (or, she supposed, it was _their_ house now, since Avery had decided to _stick his wand in it-_ ) and the world seemed to recognise the morose nature of the meeting for the sky was overcast, with heavy clouds and a greyness that even the biting wind couldn’t seem to shake off.

They hadn't spoken since Hermione had apparated to the manor, and Avery had silently led her up the hill. It was an early morning, crisp and quiet, and the houses were still deep in slumber, the people within them barely stirring. From here, they could see the whole town laid out from the bottom of their feet, see all the roads twirling like concrete ribbon, and the buildings dotted about like plain sequins. 

Regulus would've loved it, that feeling of youthful invincibility incapacitating you when you felt the wind blow; like you might be plucked from your perch and carried with the breeze, far away from here. Like Peter Pan, intoxicated on pixie dust- away with the stars.

Hermione fiddled with the small book in her hands. The golden lettering was peeling and the worn pages were crinkling in the morning wind. Avery’s eyes flicked to it. “Did you bring that to bury?”

She nodded, and he lifted his wand, the spell fresh and unspoken on his lips when she stopped him. “No,” said Hermione. Avery looked at her, but she kept her eyes on the ground. “I want to dig it without magic.”

If he found her request odd, he didn’t question it. He merely descended the hill and returned a few minutes later with a shovel in hand, which he held out for her.

They took turns digging. Although the grave didn’t need to be deep, they made it deep enough to fit a body in because the manual labour was strenuous and it made their limbs sting and their skin sweat and their heart race. When the hole was deep and wide enough for them to be satisfied with it, and they felt like they couldn’t dig another inch, they stood back and stared at the ground.

A moment later, Hermione looked down at the book in her hands. She remembered the day she had gotten it, the mysterious present which had made Sirius falter. She remembered the day she had realised, with epiphany-like abruptness, _who_ had gifted her it, and _why_. She remembered reading it for the first time and promising to herself that she would never let the grown-up world taint the magic that sparked in Regulus Black’s heart. Hermione drew in a trembling breath, eyes scanning the front cover, fingers ghosting over the spine and pages for the last time when she came across something she was sure hadn’t been there the last time she’d read it-

Granted, that had been a while ago (before his death- she had not been brave enough to pick it up since) but even so, her body froze. Hermione frowned, and her fingers found the little dent in the pages. She opened up the book.

At the top of the page (page 45), the corner had been daintily folded over. This is what had created the dent, but it was a mere signpost for Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the first line of text instead. Just above where the chapter started, somebody had written, in that small, neat handwriting she had seen countless times before:

_‘Where can I find you?’_

She blinked, confusion ripe and tender within her and then she noticed the speech that was underlined in black ink just below, and orbited by little doodles of stars:

_ ‘Second to the right, and straight on till morning.’ _

Hermione was sure her heart stopped, or maybe it fluttered, or sped up. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that her eyes teared up and she missed him terribly. When Regulus had managed to leave her this note, she had no idea, but the fact that he did made her ache everywhere.

She kissed the page where his writing was, lips lingering on the ink, knowing her tears had spilled onto the parchment and smudged the text. It didn’t matter because she then dropped the Peter Pan novel into the grave. It was an odd funeral, Hermione concluded. They didn’t have a casket containing a body; they had a book containing a soul. And somehow, it was enough. It was more than enough.

Avery rolled his shoulders before he tipped the shovel and started to throw dirt over the book. Hermione simply stood back and watched as the seconds dragged by, and the front page, which she had committed to memory, was covered by soil. The story within ceased to exist.

When he had finished, and the hole had been refilled, he threw the shovel to the side. They both looked at the grave. Although it wasn’t anything special or monumental, and they hadn’t intended for it to be so, Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though it was lacking. She knelt down, picking up the nearby rocks, crawling to find some more when she had scouted all the ones by their feet. Avery frowned, but remained silent. She collected large ones and small ones, of all colours and shapes, and when she assumed she had enough, Hermione began positioning them around the patch of dirt, outlining the grave. She kept the bigger ones for the top, to create some sort of headstone.

She broke her rule of no magic, when she reached for her wand and etched something onto the main stone in the middle of the arrangement. Hermione only sat back to stare at it for a moment before she got to her feet. It read:

_Son of the stars._

She found her place at Avery’s side and they stood and looked down at their handiwork. The silence became too much for her and she longed to break it, to say _something_ , even if it wasn’t what she needed to say.

“Do you know what he said to me?” she said. The wind tore at her words, threatening to rip them from her throat or erase their existence forever.

“What?” said Avery.

Hermione stared at the little grave, and swallowed. “He told me that I couldn’t live without you. That I could avoid you, but he wasn’t sure whether I could really live a life that was ‘ _100% Avery free_.’” Avery’s lips curled into a small smile. She continued, “He said he wouldn’t be able to either.”

At that, she noticed his smile drop and his eyebrows pull together. They both looked down again.

“That’s funny,” he said, but he didn’t sound amused. “I don’t think he realised that _we_ wouldn’t be able to live a life without him.” Avery spoke in that toneless voice of his, and yet Hermione could tell his sadness was far more profound than he let on and she laid her head against his shoulder. He didn’t lean into her, but he didn’t move away either.

She realised he was right. Regulus had become a steadiness in her otherwise tumultuous life and she had relied on him to stay there, relied on him to bring her sunshine in his smile when everything else got dark. Hermione wondered whether she had put too much on his small shoulders. She hadn’t asked him to carry the world, just to carry her.

Regulus was so unprecedented in his existence. He was like a sunflower in a storm, and he never even knew how precious both she and Avery, it seemed, found him. Now he was gone, because stardust always finds a way back home.

They stared down at the little mound of fresh dirt in silence once more. Hermione wondered whether one of them should say something, like they tend to do at funerals but the words she wanted to say refused to form on her tongue so they were silent again. Avery flicked his wand carelessly and they both watched as wild cyclamens started to grow. They were purple in colour and dainty, stretching up through the soil and blossoming around the little grave, like precious soldiers, guarding the fallen.

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of them. She knew what those flowers meant, and she knew what Avery was trying to say:

_I’m sorry._

They looked at the little grave, looked at the stones and the flowers. Hermione thought it was beautiful. She thought about how much Regulus would’ve appreciated it, and then probably laughed at them for how close his death had brought them. That thought did not last long for it pained her too much to imagine.

The fact that she would never get to see his cheeky grin again, nor the fondness in his dark eyes, or hear the youthful tilt of his voice, physically agonised her. It felt like a part of her was withering inside of her body, a part of her that she needed to survive. Hermione took a deep breath, guilt flooding her bloodstream at how selfish she was being. She realised that death wasn't about the dead. It was about the living, and what dies inside of them as they continue to survive.

And she _would_ survive. Hermione would make sure of it. If not for herself, then for Regulus, for the boy who never got to grow up. She would live a long and happy life before she’d finally join him. She doubted she would ever forget the way:

_Second to the right, and straight on till morning._

 

**oOoOoOo**

_“I’m not scared of dying, Hermione,” he said. She looked at him, her burst nerves and broken arteries shushing themselves. It was so difficult to see him as the young man he stood before her as. For Regulus Black had grown up- he was no longer the scrawny shadow of a boy, with the downcast dark eyes and pale skin. He had grown and now towered above both her and Avery, and there was a poise to his leanness, and a maturity to every word he spoke._

_Hermione swallowed and looked away. Even if he didn’t look it, he was still young. He had still barely lived._

_She frowned. “You should be.”_

_“But I’m not,” Regulus told her and there was nothing in his voice to suggest he was lying. He said it so simply. “You know why?”_

_Hermione’s eyes scanned their surroundings, chewing on her lip as she tried to avoid taking the bait. She didn’t know why. She didn’t want to. And yet, she sighed and said quietly, “Why?”_

_“Because there are things worse than death. And I know that I’ll have died doing something good, for someone greater. You see?”_

_“I’m not worth dying for,” she murmured slowly._

_Regulus didn’t even hesitate._ **“You are to me.”**


	79. Chapter 79- The Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a few of you expected more from the funeral chapter and originally, I planned for it to be very heart-breaking… but then I realised that Avery isn’t exactly an emotional person. He wouldn’t make a speech for Regulus, and I doubt Hermione would break his silence. That’s why they showed their grief through actions, and it was much subtler, but it supports my characterisation of them much more effectively:)
> 
> Sorry this chapter is long overdue! I was at a wedding this weekend gone and there was NO WIFI AT THE HOTEL! AHHHHH! Imagine the horror. This is 5k words though so you can't complain too much;) and REMUS IS BACK! WOO!

** Chapter 79- The Baby **

**July1980**

Remus Lupin returned home, broken and bruised, limping and skinny, but with a smile painted across his pale face. With fresh scratches and ragged clothes, he all but collapsed on the doorstep of Headquarters. Hermione had been one of the few, along with Sirius and James, who had been there to greet him. His arrival was rather unceremonious; not one of them had been expecting it, but that didn’t subtract from the tangible relief and euphoria they all felt at the sight of him.

Sirius had been the one to open the door, and there had been no sound as he had launched himself at the werewolf, wrapping his arms around his waist both to support him and to make up for the months he hadn’t had the chance to just _hold_ _him._ Remus laughed breathily, threading his fingers through Sirius’ hair. When they finally parted, he twirled a strand and said, “You’ve cut it. It looks nice.”

Sirius had been too overwhelmed to even smile.

“Padfoot, what are you doing? Who’s at the-?”James’ voice was heard first, and then his face appeared. His hazel eyes widened behind his square glasses and a choked noise escaped his mouth. Without a word, he threw his arms around Remus, pulling him close. These boys were brothers, connected by something more than just blood. Their souls were entwined and any absence was felt like a blow to all of them. They existed as individuals, but they were _a part of one another_. They were brothers, torn apart, but they always found each other in the end.

Remus had to pry James off him, and he looked mildly amused when he said, “I’m alright, honestly. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

And it did look bad. His hair was long and unkempt, his face was scarred and his lip was swollen and crusty with dried blood. But he was smiling, and it reached his eyes, so James didn’t comment. He simply clapped him on the back and said, “I’m glad you’re home. Wait, I’ll go find Pete.”

Remus grinned, as he disappeared, and Sirius guided him over to the living room.

“What happened to Headquarters?” He asked, craning his neck back to get a good look at the room. There were wooden beams in the ceiling and periodic features that caught his eye, and despite being old-fashioned, it was all new and intriguing.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Voldemort blew up the last one.”

Remus’ face dropped and he said, in a low voice, “What’s happened since I’ve been gone?”

Sirius dragged a hand over his eyes, feeling the past five months cram in his throat. Where would he start? So much had happened, and when he thought he was finally being given the chance to move on from everything, it was upheaved, wrenched from the bottomless chasm of his memory. “Erm,” he sat beside Remus on the settee. There were inches between them. Their knees bumped. Sirius tried to collect all of his thoughts. “They set the old Headquarters on fire- part of Voldemort’s plan to blackmail Hermione into going with him. She did but we got her back with some… _help_ on the inside. Turned out Voldemort had been spying on us through Datner, not that the poor bloke knew… or could do anything to stop him. Voldemort killed him. Caradoc died on the last mission. Other than that, I mean, everyone else is still kicking, still fighting…”

Remus paled at the mention of their former leader. It would be odd to get used to a war without Caradoc. Then, his brows furrowed, and he said immediately, “How’s Hermione? Where is she now?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” said Sirius, and he was looking at everything but the man he was speaking to. “Apparently, all Voldemort wanted to do was _chit-chat_.”

Remus snorted. “That’s not very… Dark Lord-like.”

“No. It’s not. And Hermione _should_ be here, but- well, you’d know, she has a tendency of not being or doing exactly what she’s told so… Merlin knows.”

They settled into a silence, and Sirius itched to ask him how _he’d_ been, what had happened with _him,_ but there was a bigger part of him (the one that saw Remus’ bust lip and suspected broken nose) that thought maybe he didn’t want to know after all.

He chewed at his lip before he summoned up the courage to say, “I’m glad you’re back.”

And there was no ‘ _I miss you’_ , no _‘I love you’_ , no other words that dented the air between them, but Remus heard them all the same.

It was at that moment that a door opened, and Hermione stepped out, her face screwed up in confusion. She didn’t see them straight away. “Why is James crying and why-?”

Her eyes landed on them. They widened.

“ _Remus_ ,” she breathed.

He stood up, even before she started running towards him, but he caught her in his arms, burrowing his face deep into her hair. He inhaled her, and the smell of home washed over him, _through_ him. Her curls tickled his nose and her breath warmed his neck. He could feel her tears on his cheeks. Or maybe they were his own.

Hermione pulled away, cupping his face in her hands. Her brown eyes were wide with shock at the sight of him. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” he grinned and the scab on his lip broke. Her face drained and she tilted his head in her hands so that she could inspect him. Hermione reached for her wand and healed his face, eyes glued to the way the skin stitched itself together and the blood became a smudged stain. Normally, she would’ve just cleaned him using magic but she found that her hands were shaking and she didn’t _want_ to, so she led him back to the settee and sat him down next to Sirius. Hermione walked over to the sink, retrieving and then wetting a cloth, before she opened the fridge and got out an ice cube. She returned to him. Hermione shrugged off her cardigan and wrapped it around the ice, passing it to Sirius. She told him, “Keep that on his lip. The cut’s healed but the swelling is still there. It should make it go down a little.”

Sirius obliged, taking the ice from her and holding it to Remus’ lip. Remus pouted mockingly for him, and Sirius just rolled his eyes and kept the coldness to his bruise, smirking ever so slightly when he flinched. Hermione knelt in front of him and started wiping away the blood. It must’ve been old, for she had to scrub quite hard to remove it but, slowly, his freckles were revealed to her. Hermione counted them. His skin was raw and pink afterwards, but Remus didn’t seem to mind.

Once he was cleared up and his lip had gone down a bit, Hermione took her damp cardigan (the ice had already melted) and the cloth away and just put them down on the table. She then folded her hands in her lap.

Sirius swallowed loudly and the sound drew Remus’ attention to him. Behind them, he let his hand touch Sirius’ fleetingly, drawing patterns on his rough skin, circling his knuckles. It felt as though they hadn’t been this close, hadn’t had the chance to touch one another and truly acknowledge that they were here and they _existed_ , for so long. His bones ached for it.

Remus yawned then, and he reached up to try and stifle it but Hermione spied it nevertheless.

“You’re exhausted,” she said. The tone of her voice left no room for discussion. “You need to be sleeping.”

Remus smiled at her and it was so _tired_ \- _he_ was so tired- that he didn’t even try to argue. He simply got to his feet. His hand removed from Sirius’ as though it had never been there at all. He offered him an untouched glance, where his eyes smiled more than his actual lips, before he followed her to one of the spare rooms. Immediately, whilst Remus scanned his new bedroom (for this was all very new to him), Hermione set about pulling back the duvet and sorting out his pillows. She guided him to the bed and he laughed at her fussing of him but didn’t let one complaint slip from his mouth, as she tucked him in, pulling the covers right up to his chin.

She didn’t stop, the adrenaline overtaking her body, fuelled by the _relief_ she felt, and instead moved to close the curtains. Hermione then pressed a long kiss to his forehead, and was surprised at how different he smelt and how, despite it, she could still smell her Remus.

She tuned to leave.

“Hermione,” he called, and she paused in the doorway. His little face poked out from beneath the bedcovers, where she had tucked him in all the way and she felt her heart throb at how young he looked. Remus sent her a crooked smile. “Stay?”

She couldn’t reply because her tongue froze but she stumbled back to his bedside. There was no chair to sit on so she bent her knees to kneel when Remus reached out and held her wrist. He shuffled over and tugged on her arm, and Hermione sat on the bed beside him. She had no intention to sleep, so she sat upright with her back to the headboard, watching as he snuggled further into his pillow. He was still holding her wrist and his grip loosened to slip down a few inches so that he could lock his fingers with hers.

The questions crammed their way into her throat, and she wanted to ask what had happened; what it had been like. But she knew that this was his respite from it all, a holiday if you will, and holidays were meant to distract, not remind.

“Why are you back?” Hermione asked instead. A teasing smile curled his lips.

“Would you like me to leave again?”

She swatted him and he laughed, and it surprised her how carefree the sound was. It was just like when he was back at school. “ _No_ ,” she said, slightly exasperated that she had to say this at all. “I just mean, why now?”

Remus shrugged. “Dumbledore’s orders.”

Hermione looked down at that, choosing not to reply and she began to play with his fingers, twirling them and ghosting her own across them. She said, "Are you staying?"

"Not for good," Remus murmured. He watched her face intently. "I'm going back soon."

"How soon?"

"The end of the month," he replied.

"That's very soon," she said, and she still didn't look at him. The quiet made her pounding heart all the more obvious to her.

“I used my wish,” she muttered. She felt his eyes snag on her face so she rushed to continue speaking. “After you left, I blew the dandelion and wished for it to bring you back safely to me.”

Hermione didn’t look at him, focusing all her attention on the way his index finger curved slightly to the right, and how there was a thin, white scar running from the bottom of his thumb to his wrist bone, but she still felt his eyes on her. He said, almost speechless, “I thought you were saving it? For the war. For yourself. For a bit of hope-”

But she cut him off, finally bringing herself to look at him. His golden eyes were unsure and surprised so she spoke in a careful, yet nonchalant voice. A small frown marred her face.

“You were more important.”

**oOoOoOo**

She didn’t leave Remus’ side until she was sure he was sleeping. Hermione stayed, watching as his eyelids fluttered and his chest rose slowly, and the ragged breaths whistled through his open mouth. He was exhausted, that much was evident; his eyes were framed with big, black circles, and his face was pale. He looked as though the weight of his task, of being undercover and away from everything he knew, had been too much for him, like it had made him sag, or maybe made the galaxy inside of him collapse.

Hermione sighed, running a hand down her face. She could barely manage the relief that coursed through her at the sight of him, lying in bed, all in one piece. It was consuming, breath-taking. But she’d known it all along- she’d known he’d come back. There was just no way he wouldn’t.

She knew that she was supposed to be meeting Avery soon, but she didn’t hasten to leave. Not until she was positive he was as deep in his slumber as possible. Only then did Hermione kiss his knuckles and slip from the room, dropping into her own to retrieve her bag before she apparated on the Headquarters doorstep.

“You’re late,” said Avery, as soon as she got there. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, then had to squint them as she looked around. The sun was high in the sky, drowning the meadow they now stood in, in light. It was a beautiful place- not one that she would’ve necessarily associated with Avery, but beautiful nonetheless.

She said lightly, “Well, that all depends on the point of view, doesn’t it?”

He scowled as she sat down in the long grass, threading her fingers through the stems. Arms folded across his chest, Avery asked, “Why were you late?”

“Debatably on-time,” Hermione corrected, flashing him a brilliant smile to inform him that she did indeed enjoy using his own argument against him. He raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed. “Because Remus just got back from being undercover for five months. I can see you anytime. Forgive me for not putting you at the top of my priorities.”

“Well now you’ve hurt my feelings, but you _are_ forgiven,” Avery said. “But only because you’re such a pleasure to have around. Where was he undercover?”

“Werewolf den,” she told him. “Greyback’s, I think.”

His face grew grim and Hermione knew that Fenrir Greyback must be as notorious in this time as he was in hers. Her thoughts were confirmed when he said, “And he came back in one-piece?”

“Thankfully, yes.”

Avery’s jaw tightened. “I think I’d rather face Voldemort than Greyback. At least death at his hands would be quick.”

She didn’t particularly want to think about it and it seemed neither did he for he changed the subject abruptly by asking, “Why are you here, anyway?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘why am I here?’ _You_ wanted to meet-!”

“I mean, there’s a raid currently going on,” Avery said. "And you are a bloodthirsty, little witch. Why aren't you fighting?"

 _Oh._ Hermione frowned and picked at the grass. "They said I need 'grieving time.'"

Avery breathed in deeply, sensing the turmoil in her mutter. He said, "And you disagree?"

She stayed quiet. Hermione had seen many people die before her. Both in her time and in this, and she hadn't ever needed 'grieving time.' She had just gotten to her feet, brushed herself off and continued going.

"All this doing nothing," she said quietly, "just means I think about it more."

Avery hummed. "Well, you've got to think about it to get over it. The more you think about it, the sooner you'll get over it. That's how it works, right?"

Hermione didn't reply, simply rolled onto her side.

“I thought that was a few months ago, anyway. They still won’t let you fight?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be fighting then in the first place,” she reminded him bitterly. “It was only because Caradoc-” Her throat closed up.

“So this is like an extended sentence?” Avery surmised for her, before she had to finish, and her silence answered him.

The sun was hot, impossibly so, symbolising the arrival of the long awaited summer. But the heat was suffocating, bearing down on them, consuming and inescapable. She felt the stick of sweat along her hairline, sweet and wet. Hermione felt so lazy, and the summer-haze intoxicated her. She stretched out, closing her eyes, and she heard, rather than saw, Avery sit down next to her.

“I can’t stay all day,” she told him, not bothering to open her eyes. He hummed in reply. “Lily’s pregnant and she’s very hormonal. She can barely move at this point.”

There was a moment where he was quiet before he said, “I don’t think I could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Bring a child into the war.”

Now, she looked at him. Avery was sitting, eyes staring off into the distance, legs folded beneath him. Hermione said, “It wasn’t intentional.”

“But she kept it.”

It wasn’t really a question. She wondered if it was meant to be.

“Of course,” she said tightly. Avery must have heard the coldness in her voice and realised he had said something to upset her for he switched his gaze to her.

“I’m not suggesting she should have done anything different. I’m merely pointing out that now is not the most opportune time to have a baby.” He paused, eyes widening a fraction as he made sense of her reaction. He said bluntly, “You know the baby. In your time. It was your… friend?”

“Best friend,” Hermione corrected in a heartbeat.

“Ah,” he smiled slightly at her. “That makes more sense.” She didn’t ask _what_ exactly made more sense for he said, “Have you been born too?”

She froze then. Her heart actually stopped beating. _Of course_. Why hadn’t she realised? _How_ hadn’t she realised? If Harry was about to be born, and he was just under a year younger than her, that meant that she’d been born last September, when the twins had-

_“Oh.”_

It was the only response she managed. How was it that time had slipped by her so quickly? Was it even possible? Or had she just been too preoccupied with keeping everyone alive that she had forgotten to stop and realise what was going on? There were two Hermione Grangers in the world at present and the thought made the breath lodge in her chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Does this mean that there are two of you? The future-you, and the original-you? Because if so, then doesn’t that also mean that one you must cancel out the existence of the other-?” Avery trailed off, watching her in disgust. He said, "Stop that."

This pulled her up short. "Stop what?"

"Stop... eating yourself," he said.

Hermione looked at him incredulously, then realised he was referring to her chewing the skin around her fingernails. She hadn't even noticed. Now that he'd mentioned it, however, she recoiled at how sore and blistered her fingers had become. It must be a nervous tick, or a coping mechanism- she'd never caught herself doing it before. It was a far from pretty sight, but she still rolled her eyes at his choice of words. "I'm not eating myself."

Avery's lip curled, and he said, "You are- look, you're doing it again!"

It was only then that Hermione realised she was, once more, lifting her hand to her mouth. She froze when Avery quickly wrapped his hand around her thumb, dragging it away. Hermione stared at him.

"Now you can't chew yourself," he told her, still slightly disgusted by her habit. Part of her was thankful for the change in subject because all this talk of time-travel was hurting her brain and she didn’t really want to think about cancelling out her own existence (either way, she would cease to exist, wouldn’t she?). She sighed, reaching into her bag with her free hand and withdrawing two books. Their new position hindered her freedom to read, but she let him squeeze her thumb nevertheless.

Hermione handed him a book, which he accepted silently, and they both began reading, enjoying the rare solace they had managed to capture. Avery kept hold of her thumb.

**oOoOoOo**

“Where were you?” Lily demanded, as soon as Hermione stepped through the front door of Godric’s Hollow. The redhead had her hands on her hips and narrowed her green eyes. “You’re late.”

“My, I certainly am in demand today, aren’t I?” Hermione breathed, panting from having run.

Lily waddled forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the living room. Hermione managed to slip her shoes off on the way, allowing her friend to manhandle her along. Lily grumbled, “I don’t care about all the time you’ve been spending with your illicit Death Eater lover.”

“Well, that _is_ a shame,” Hermione replied sarcastically. “And here, I thought you’d summoned me to dish out all the sexy details.”

“Oh, we’ll get to those,” Lily promised, waving her hand as though this was obvious and Hermione’s eyes widened. “But not at the minute. That can wait.”

She led her into the living room, practically shoving her down into a seat. Lily sat down next to her, holding her hands. Hermione had no idea what was going on.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Lily began. She was still as beautiful as the day Hermione had first laid eyes on her, all porcelain skin and emerald eyes and flaming hair. She was like an explosion of _light_ and warmth. Hermione clung to that.

“ _Lily_ ,” she mimicked.

Lily said sincerely, “I love you. You’re my best friend and there are not enough words in the English language that would allow me to explain how much you mean to me. You’re my sister, Hermione- a part of my home… And that’s why, I wanted to ask you if-”

She broke off suddenly, letting out a loud exclamation of pain, looking in alarm down at her stomach then at Hermione. The latter frowned, forgetting about how close to tears she had been just a moment before, when she saw the panic in Lily’s eyes. “Is he kicking again?”

Lily shook her head frantically and said, “No. No, this is different. This is worse than usual. Oh, _ow_ -!”

The redhead clutched at her bump, clenching her eyes shut, so tightly that tears leaked from them. The trickle of water she felt made them fly open again. Hermione realised what was happening a fraction of a second later, and she kneeled down in front of her, hands on her knees, and said, “Lily. I think you might be going into labour.”

The undulated fear in Lily’s eyes made Hermione swallow, and she whispered, “No. No, I can’t be. James is- I don’t know where James is. I need- I need James here.”

“I’ll find him,” Hermione promised, but the words were futile. “But right now, we need to get you to a hospital.”

She wrapped her arm around Lily, attempting to pull her up but Lily wailed. “I can’t move. It hurts too much.”

Hermione leaned back to assess the situation. Logically, the safest and cleanest place for Lily to be was St Mungos, although she doubted she could get her there without causing her too much unnecessary pain. Besides, James was more likely to come home sooner and it appeared Lily would not be going anywhere without her husband at her side.

“Okay,” Hermione shushed, soothing down Lily’s hair. She was already damp with sweat from the effort of biting back her pained whimpers. “We’ll stay here. How does that sound?” Her eyes did a sweep of the room. “I might have to move you onto the floor though. Can you manage that?”

Lily nodded, but she wasn’t certain, and she hissed as Hermione helped lower her off the settee. Hermione collected the pillows from the chairs and positioned them to that she would be comfy, at least. She then stood up, running a hand through her hair. There was no way she could leave her like this, but she _had_ to find James.

It was then that Hermione remembered the way the Order had communicated in her time. She cast the Patronus, faltering only slightly when the wolf bounded towards her, before she said desperately, “Find James. Tell him- Tell him Bambi’s coming!”

The Patronus bowed its head before it disappeared, and Hermione counted the seconds it took, praying that it would find James quickly. She almost forgot about the pregnant woman on the floor until she turned to look at her.

“ _Bambi?”_ Lily repeated incredulously, apparently not as delirious as she appeared. Hermione cringed, feeling the heat flood her cheeks. “I’ll have you know that just because my husband is a _stag_ when he chooses to be, does _not_ mean-”

Luckily, she was interrupted when the front door was slammed open, and the Marauders’ footsteps and voices could be heard clambering down the hall. Lily almost cried again in relief, tipping her head backwards.

“Whose idea was Bambi?” Sirius appeared in the doorway first, grinning widely. At Hermione’s pronounced blush, he laughed and gave her a high-five. Remus rolled his eyes. Peter was too alarmed at the sight of Lily to pass judgement on their pun. James took no notice of any of them, rushing over to his wife’s side on the floor, and brushing her hair back from her face. He pressed a long kiss to her temple, finding and squeezing her hand as tightly as he could.

Remus appeared by Hermione’s side, frowning. “How long has she been in labour for?”

“Not long. It’s only just started.”

Peter hung back, eyes wide, looking very much like he was about to be sick. Sirius didn’t look too engaged either and he put an arm around Peter, trying to tear his eyes away from Lily but finding that, despite his disgust, he couldn’t.

Remus and Hermione set up the floor. They summoned towels and blankets to lay on the carpet, and a flannel to wipe at Lily’s face. She was already wearing a dress, so they could just lift it up to her hips. Remus bowed out at this point, preferring to stay on the upper side of her body and Hermione almost rolled her eyes at him. Honestly, it was like he’d never seen a vagina before!

Lily wailed, crying and pressing down on her stomach in an attempt to alleviate the pain there. She said in a strained voice, “Why does it feel like my body is breaking and then fixing itself?”

Hermione cringed at the description, but said, “Those are contractions. They’re-”

“I know what they are!” Lily snapped, rolling her head back, onto James’ shoulder.

 _“I don’t!”_ James exclaimed frantically.

“Contractions are the muscles of the womb contracting and relaxing as it pushes the baby closer to the cervix, ready for it to be pushed out,” Hermione supplied, but she was watching Lily’s face as she turned pinker and pinker. “James, you need to make sure she moderates her breathing. It should help with the pain.”

James nodded, desperate to help in whatever way he could, and he breathed in and out, in time with Lily, pressing quick, chaste kisses to her face every now and then. Only when it finally seemed to be working was the moment ruined by another contraction, more agonising this time, and Lily gritted her teeth.

“Oh my- Ow. _OW_. Okay, ow. _Darling_ ,” James pleaded, trying to pry her grip off him. He managed to loosen it in the end and breathed out a sigh of relief. His smile was easy. “Merlin, you have no idea how _painful_ that was-!”

At her glare, he sealed his lips and said, “You know, you squeeze as tightly as you want.”

Lily didn’t get a chance to reply, however, for her face screwed up in pain and a gut-wrenching scream was torn from her throat.

“I feel like I’m watching something from Alien,” Sirius muttered, his voice a mixture of awe and horror. Peter actually gagged at that.

Her labour lasted a total of four hours, where there was a lot of screaming, swearing and sobbing (predominantly on James’ part). But eventually, the room fell quiet and small screams could be heard. Hermione took the baby into her arms, trembling because she could feel the pulse of his life on her fingertips. She sniffed, but the tears came anyway. His face was screwed up as he cried but she shushed him gently, holding out her finger for him to hold onto. He quietened then, and only then, looking up at her with big, green eyes.

He had his mother’s eyes.

He was such a beautiful collection of stardust, of blood and bone, of heart and nerve. Granted, he was tiny at the moment (weighing perhaps 6lbs in all), but Hermione could feel his importance, feel the love for him like it was the oxygen in the air. She looked at Lily and the laugh sounded more like a sob as she gave him to her.

Lily cradled him close, whispering soothing words and stroking his soft cheek. James peered over her shoulder, eyes wide with wonder as he stared down at his son. His throat bobbed and he looked up at them all and whispered hoarsely, “ _I have a son.”_

Sirius wiped roughly at his face (he would later demand that he was _not_ crying!) and Peter, though still shaky, smiled for the first time since he’d gotten here. Remus looked as though he couldn’t quite believe it.

Lily swallowed, and her voice was sore and throaty from her screaming, but she looked at them all and smiled, before she looked back down at her baby, her own flesh and blood, and said softly, _“Harry James Potter.”_

James looked at his wife in awe, kissing her cheek. Then, he smiled and said, “ _Hello Harry.”_

The baby made a string of incoherent noises and they all stole themselves at his dearness.

 _'Where does it all begin?'_ Hermione thinks.

It begins with a mother who loves her son more than life itself, and a father who vows to protect both of them. It begins with a newborn baby, and as Lily cradled him closer to her body, he reached out to wrap a tiny hand around the tip of her nose and she laughed adoringly, all Hermione can think is:

 _With Harry._ It begins with Harry.


	80. Chapter 80- The Darkness

** Chapter 80- The Darkness **

**October 1980**

****

Harry had barely been on the planet three months and yet Hermione was sure there was no one she loved more.

She'd never had a baby in her close family- she was an only child and her parents both had no siblings either so that ruled out any cousins. But as she found out, babies were both miracles and nightmares. Harry, despite looking like an angel, turned out to be a little devil: he slept irregularly; he screamed when you averted your attention for even a second; he was always hungry or smelly or tired or crying. He was a baby.

Hermione loved him, but _by God_ , was he a handful.

In the exhaustion of her birth, Lily had reached for her, holding her hand and asked her to be the Godmother. Hermione would be lying if she said she hadn’t cried (she had, and a lot) before accepting. They’d also asked Sirius to be the Godfather and apparently, according to Lily, he had cried a lot more than she had so it made her feel a little better.

_The day of Harry’s birth had been a competitive game of ‘Pass-the-Baby’, as each of them had wanted a cuddle from the newest member of their family. When it had come to Sirius, he had held Harry closer to him, almost like he was scared he was going to break and it was obvious for anyone watching, that he didn't know how to hold a baby properly. He was too awkward, too careful. James just stared at his best friend, his smile so soft it barely touched his lips. He said, "We want you to be the Godfather, Pads."_

_Sirius stopped and his eyes were wide as he looked between them. Lily beamed at him, and let out a small laugh at his speechlessness. Then, Sirius looked back down at Harry, who was blinking up at him as though he were the brightest star in the sky, and he couldn't help it- his eyes were wet and he tried to hide the tears before they fell but he was out of free hands so they fell regardless._

_James froze. "Padfoot... Are you crying?" He asked carefully._

_"No!" Sirius denied, turning his face away. "It's- allergies."_

_Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "To what?"_

_There was a pregnant pause before Sirius' quiet reply was heard:_

_"Babies."_

_Lily laughed loudly and James shot her a wide-eyed look, one which she rolled her eyes at, and said, “Well, if that’s the case, mate, I should probably take Harry off you. Don’t want your allergies playing up…”_

_But Sirius stepped out of his reach when James made to take Harry and said, “Don’t steal my Godson. We’re bonding.”_

_James and Lily had shared a secret smile._

Since that day, Hermione had all but moved into Godrics Hollow, always there to help out. Lily had begged her to stay, whether that was to help her or Harry, and Hermione was more than willing. It gave her something to focus on, and allowed her to avoid spending days at a time trapped in Headquarters. She was no longer forced to endure ‘grieving time’, but the Order (namely, James) seemed hesitant to let her out on missions still. It was lucky that she had Harry to distract her.

Now, Hermione sat in the armchair, Harry in her arms, as Lily used the break to do some housework. It was clear how aggravated this ‘house-arrest’ and now ‘baby-arrest’ made her, for she was not one who could be sated by sitting around and doing nothing all day. She was a woman of action and she had to be doing something all the time or she’d grow restless. It was good for everyone to ensure Lily was never bored.

Hermione didn’t know for how long she’d been sat there, and she shifted slightly, careful not to wake Harry, to turn the page of her book. Babies weren’t exactly exciting, especially not when they were sleeping.

She felt her wand grow hot in her pocket and cursed, looking down at the small baby in her arms. He was fast asleep now, nuzzled into her breast, and Hermione faltered slightly. A large part of her (the part that had planned on having her own children one day, the part that had fantasised about their names and clothes) didn't want to go. It wanted to stay here and cuddle him until he woke up, but she knew that she had to meet Avery. He wouldn't call for her if it could wait.

Carefully, as if dealing with something made of glass, Hermione stood up, pausing when Harry stirred. He didn't wake up, however, so she moved over to his crib and laid him down in it, handing him a teddy to hold in place of her finger.

She hesitated before she left him, feeling a yearning deep inside of her to stay. It was so odd. Granted, it _all_ was. But this was her best friend- this was the boy that she had grown up with, the boy she could’ve loved if life had taken them a different way. The boy she came to love as a brother in the end. This was her _Harry_. The boy who saved her from a mountain troll, who she watched flourish and grow from a child to a man, to a saviour, who she had seen _dead_ -

“Are you going so soon?”

Lily’s voice wrenched her from her thoughts and Hermione closed her eyes briefly, trying to dispel the images. She was grateful for the interruption. She cleared her throat.

“Yes,” she said. “I have to go meet Avery.”

“Oh,” Lily said knowingly. “Yes. You’re illicit lover. You still haven’t told me the details of your escapade.”

Hermione coughed, bringing a hand to her mouth to cover her blush. “Maybe not when there’s a baby in the room.”

Lily shrugged, casting him a fond glance and said, “It’s not like he can understand. Besides, he’s going to have to find out where he came from one day.”

“Yes! _One day_ ,” Hermione emphasised incredulously. “Not now! And most certainly not by me!”

 _Lord_. Imagine that! In all honesty, she didn’t want to imagine having to give Harry ‘the talk’. Although that did make her wonder who’d given it to him in her time... Maybe it was Ron. Now that was something that made her snort.

Lily sniggered, “I can’t wait to see James do that. He’s going to freak!”

“Maybe he’ll ask Sirius to help,” Hermione said slyly, grinning when Lily’s eyes popped wide.

“That dog is not coming near my child to talk about the birds and the bees! He’d corrupt him!” Lily shuddered at the idea. “His entire vocabulary would be puns and corny pick-up lines!”

Hermione couldn’t hold herself back from laughing at the horror on Lily’s face. The latter looked even more scandalised and she swatted her, chastising, “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny!”

The slight smile gave her away.

Suddenly, Harry started crying, screaming his little lungs out, and Lily rushed over. She put his dummy in his mouth, and he quietened. She visibly sagged in relief.

Hermione loitered, lingering just to make sure he didn’t start crying again. When she was positive he was sleeping, she headed for the door.

Lily reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. She looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate, "Please don't leave me with him!"

Hermione laughed, detangling herself. She cupped Lily's cheeks and said, "He's fine! Harry's sleeping at the moment. That means you should sleep too. I'll be back when you wake up, I promise."

At Lily's reluctant nod, Hermione kissed her forehead and left. She apparated just outside the wards and felt the pull of her magic take her to where Avery was waiting, but it was unnecessary navigation. She knew where he’d be.

The Muggle house had become like a second home to her, and she could envisage its living room even with her eyes closed. In her mind's eye, Avery was always lounged in the armchair, like a King on his throne, but when she arrived, she found him standing by the fireplace, playing with the ornaments.

"Don't touch those," she said. Avery spared her a glance and he frowned. His hand dropped from the little statue.

"Are you still on ‘time-out’?” he asked, eyeing her carefully. Hermione threw herself down onto the nearest seat and let out a long sigh.

“Does it look like I’m fighting?”

Avery rolled his eyes at her cheek, but chose to ignore it. He said, “It’s been a long time. You’d have thought they’d have let you back on the field by now. Five months is an awfully long recovery period.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied. She bothered to raise her eyes to him, for he was still stood by the fireplace. There was a contemplative indecision to him, as though he were thinking about something, but unsure as to whether he should let the thought tarnish the tip of his tongue. Hermione frowned. “What?”

Avery’s bored eyes flicked to her. “Oh, I was simply thinking.”

His vagueness narrowed her eyes. “About?”

“Your time-out.”

“Avery,” she gritted out. “Explain yourself or I will hurt you so badly, _you’ll_ need a time-out.”

A small smirk curled his lips and he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, kitten, sheath those claws. I was thinking that perhaps your time-out isn’t because you need grieving time.”

Hermione paused, thrown off by this idea. She swallowed, and tried to appear nonchalant as she said, “Then, why?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Avery questioned after a second’s hesitation. At her glare, he conceded. “What if they’re scared of you?”

Her reply jammed in her throat. She stopped. “Scared of me?” repeated Hermione, shaking her head to try and make sense of the notion. “Why- why would they be scared of me?”

Avery appeared as patient as ever but it only served to irk her more. “Because you were kidnapped by the Dark Lord and held prisoner for three weeks and all they know about your little holiday is that you _chatted_ … Then, when you’re finally out, the first thing you do is try to kill someone-”

“A Death Eater,” she corrected forcefully, eyes flashing.

“It doesn’t matter whether it was a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself,” he said, just as firmly. “Fact of the matter is, the Order’s little, innocent princess isn’t so innocent anymore. She just tried to kill someone.”

Hermione stared at him, so shocked she was trembling. She wanted to argue and tell him that she wouldn’t have killed him and anyway, so what? So what if she would have? He was a Death Eater! He had probably murdered innocent people! He had probably murdered-

 _Caradoc_.

But she couldn’t because Avery was right. She wasn’t the same girl that she had been when Voldemort had taken her. Hermione felt the difference like a weight, a poison, in her soul. She had no idea what he had done to her, but it was slowly getting heavier and heavier, to the point where she could no longer ignore it.

She swallowed, and was aware that Avery was watching her closely. He seemed concerned, but that was only a slither in his dark, cool eyes.

“You feel different, don’t you, Hermione?” He murmured. “What did he do to you?”

He got closer. His voice got so close she could’ve wrapped it around her.

“What did Voldemort do to you-?”

Abruptly and without warning, Hermione shoved him away from her. He stumbled backwards, caught off guard. She spat, “ _Nothing_. He did nothing.”

“The Hermione I know wouldn’t kill someone,” Avery insisted hotly and it seemed he had lost all calmness to his pretence.

_The Hermione you know is gone!_

Those words didn't leave her mouth. Their mere appearance (and _truth_ ) terrified her.

“This is a war, Avery!” she replied fiercely. “A simple Stupefy isn’t going to make much of a difference now. He’ll merely get up, brush off the dust and continue killing innocent people. I’m ridding the world of one more murderer who started this goddamn thing.”

Avery regarded her for a moment. He was always so steady and it threw her off. She could never remain that dignified, that controlled- if Avery was the sea, Hermione was the tsunami that broke loose upon it. He said, “It doesn’t take a murderer to start a war. It simply takes a decent human being who cannot sit back and watch the innocent get stepped on.”

"Are you insinuating that I started this?" She demanded indignantly, heat flushing her cheeks.

He shrugged, turning his attention to the trinkets on the fireplace. He adjusted one with the tip of his index finger. "No. Simply that you may be the one to end it."

Hermione stared at him for a while longer and it was such an odd feeling that washed through her, one that made her long for a deep breath to clear her mind. The rush of the air through her lips grounded her and she changed the subject as quickly and inconspicuously as she could.

“Why did you want to meet?”

Avery raised an eyebrow. “There’s going to be a raid. Apparently, Voldemort is after something important. All the high-ranked Death Eaters will be there.”

Hermione twirled with her bracelet. “Will you be there?”

He looked at her in faux-surprise but his voice was monotone. “Why darling, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” She scowled at him so he said, “Regretfully, no. So I won’t be there to stop you from killing anyone this time. Try not to fuck up too much, won’t you?”

Hermione wanted to punch him but she flexed her fingers instead. She said bitterly, “They probably won’t even let me attend the meeting, never mind the actual mission.”

"Well you know how to remedy that," he said. She watched him as he came closer. "Don't take no for an answer. Make it that they need you. That it would hinder their chances of success if they didn't take you with them."

She chewed at her lips, then said, "That won't work. James would rather admit defeat than lose anyone else."

"Well then James is blind because more people are going to die." Hermione inhaled sharply at his coldness and his dark eyes shot to her. Avery said, "The war isn't over yet, Hermione. Not even close. You've still got one horcrux left to find and you have no idea where it is.”

Hermione’s heart twitched. “I’ll find it,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, I have no doubt that you will. Just try and speed up the process a bit and then we can go on a school trip to kill the Dark Lord.”

She stared at him as if he was crazy. His bluntness and complete turnaround of opinion baffled her. She said quietly, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing is _up_ with me,” Avery said calmly. “I’m just realising, not for the first time, that your little plan is a suicide mission.”

She gritted her teeth, standing up now. “Even if it _is_ a suicide mission, even if I _am_ going to die, I’m doing it. Come to terms with it or don’t speak to me about it.”

“I could lock you away,” he suggested. Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“You could try.”

A small smile strained his lips but it was gone in the same second it appeared. He breathed deeply and said, all the while staring into her eyes, “Don’t go into the snake’s den _looking_ for death. Death should not be feared, but that does not mean it should be pursued. Do you understand?”

Hermione wanted to say something, maybe to snap at how patronising he was being, or to tell him that she wasn’t a child so he should stop treating her like one. The words all avoided her mouth. There was something very assertive and insistent in Avery’s eyes, something that rendered her speechless. She could only nod.

He flashed her a genuine smile but Hermione could see the cracks. He said pleasantly, “Well, I’m glad we have that wrapped up. Now, about the raid…”

**oOoOoOo**

She returned in the evening to an empty Headquarters. Whether they were all sleeping, or all otherwise preoccupied, she didn’t know and she didn’t ponder long on the thought. Instead, Hermione got changed into her pyjamas and all but collapsed in her bed.

**oOo**

That night, Hermione dreamt of Voldemort.

The world she was stood in was not so much a world, as a monolith darkness. Obdurate and unyielding, it surrounded her and the clang of her footsteps seemed to echo loudly off it. She wanted to reach out and touch it, and when she got close enough, she could see the tendrils swirling ominously. She wanted to touch it-

“That wouldn’t be a good idea, Kairos.”

Hermione spun round.

He was less human than she remembered, and the change was so subtle that it terrified her. His dark eyes were still black, but she could see the tinge of red whenever the light shone upon him in a certain way. His skin was paler, almost white, and his lips were thin and cracked. It looked as though his hair had fallen out, for it was wiry and uneven. Tom Riddle was the ghost of this monster.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked in horror.

Voldemort laughed, and the sound was no longer lovely and rich but high and cold. She felt the fear bubble within her.

" _You did, Kairos_ ," he replied loftily.

She swallowed, and she feared the sound would echo like her footsteps. Voldemort made no sound. He was like a snake.

“Where am I?” Hermione demanded. She reached for her wand, whipping it out of her sleeve and aiming it at him. He looked, if anything, amused and the emotion was like a blow to her gut. She didn’t lower it though.

He didn’t bother getting out his own wand, and simply said, “Where do you think you are?”

“I’m dreaming,” she told him. She knew she was. She remembered getting ready for bed; she remembered closing her eyes; she remembered how real life felt in comparison to this. Somehow, when she voiced this realisation, it calmed her.

He dropped his head in a single nod, eyes never leaving hers. “Indeed. But what’s to say that dreams aren’t real?”

Hermione frowned, grip on her wand faltering and then tightening once she realised. “It’s a lucid dream. I know I’m dreaming. I _know_ this isn’t real.”

Voldemort merely watched her silently.

“What would happen if I touched it?” Hermione asked, tipping her head in direction of the darkness next to her. She had to. The question burnt her curious brain, desperate for an answer. It seemed to have moved closer, caging her in, but she wondered if it was just because everything was black that she thought that.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. “You have an urge to touch the darkness?”

She realised what he was insinuating and shook her head.

“No?” His amusement returned. “It’s quite extraordinary, isn’t it? So many layers. So much depth. Why are you dreaming of darkness, Kairos?”

“Stop calling me that.”

His eyes glittered maliciously. “As you wish, _Hermione_.”

Suddenly, she regretted speaking out against the nickname. That was so much easier, so much less intimate than her real name. She detested the sound of it on the Dark Lord’s lips.

It dawned on her abruptly, and she felt like she had been doused in cold water at the revelation. Her eyes changed when she looked at him, then swept the darkness.

“This isn’t a dream,” Hermione said slowly. She didn’t see the way Voldemort bristled. “I’m sleeping but this isn’t a dream. You’re somehow in my head. Like you were-”

_Like you were with Harry._

An unpleasant smile curled his thin lips, but it looked more like a snarl. He said, “Very smart, Hermione. I didn’t think you’d figure it out.”

She threw up her shield in her mind, thinking of mirrors, of reflection, so that he wouldn’t be able to see her memories. Her heart was beating so fast that the sound of it dented the darkness. Voldemort quirked an eyebrow. “If I wanted your memories, I would have taken them by now and you would be none the wiser, Kairos.”

Hermione inhaled sharply. She said, “You call me that because you think I’m your opportunity to take down the Order…”

_-let out a wheeze and she said, “You call me that because you think I’m your opportunity.” Something changed in Voldemort’s eyes and his hand faltered on her neck before he squeezed harder. “You just don’t know whether you’ve got me… or whether you missed me.”_

She swallowed, barely able to comprehend what she was about to do. Her voice wasn’t even a whisper when she said, “You missed me.”

And Hermione touched the darkness. She could hear Voldemort screaming behind her. She could hear herself screaming. She clenched her eyes shut because it was _too much_ , so much, and how was she going to survive? The darkness pressed in all around her, suffocating her, and she closed her mouth to try and keep it out but it seeped in, trickled inside of her, smothered her screams.

That night, Hermione dreamt of the end.


	81. Chapter 81

** Chapter 81 **

**October 1980**

 

She needed to see Dumbledore.

She woke up, panting, in a pool of sweat and that was the first thought to cross her mind. Hermione pulled back the covers, getting changed in the dark as quickly as she could. She had no idea what time it was, or whether Dumbledore would even be awake, but she couldn’t wait until morning. She needed to see him now.

Hermione crept out of her room, pausing when she remembered what Avery had told her yesterday. She conjured some parchment and a pen and wrote down the details of the raid, slipping it under his door, knowing he’d find it when he woke up and do what was best. She might be back before everyone else stirred, but if the wild, painful beating of her heart was anything to go by, she wouldn’t return until she had all the answers and Merlin knew how long that would take.

That was why she needed to see Dumbledore. He always had the answers.

Hermione left Headquarters, apparating on the street. She wasn’t really aware of anything during the journey from the gates, through the castle, to Dumbledore’s office. It was like she was in a haze, or still asleep, but the sharp pang of reality reminded her of how her dream had felt in comparison, and she knew she was awake. It should have comforted her, but the coldness of her sweat at the back of her neck compelled her to feel otherwise.

She raced along the final corridor, throwing out as many Muggle sweets as she could think of- she didn’t have to go through many for the gargoyle swung to the side to allow her access fairly quickly. Hermione used the last ounce of her energy to run up the stairs. Her knock was insistent and demanding.

The door swung open.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore greeted. He didn’t look surprised to see her, not in the slightest, and Hermione only entertained the relief that flooded through her for a second. “Do come in.”

She hesitated in the doorway before she accepted his entry. She walked past him into the office when he stepped back, and stood awkwardly, letting her eyes linger on the objects and ornaments she’d seen countless times before. He sat down behind his desk, and gestured for her to sit in front of him. She obliged silently, folding her hands in her lap and resisting the urge to twirl her fingers.

She said, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes were creased in a small frown as he leaned forward and asked gently, “Are you quite alright, Miss Granger?”

Hermione thought about the question and she knew she should probably lie, should probably play it safe so that she could collect her wits before spilling anything. But she couldn’t lie. Her hands were shaking, her soul _ached_ , and she wanted nothing more than to sleep, even though she knew that was impossible. _He_ was waiting for her there.

“I feel,” Hermione swallowed, searching for the right word when eventually, she just said lamely, “different.”

Dumbledore’s eyes never left her. “Oh? In what way?”

She finally acknowledged the swirling inside of her, that feeling lingering on the fringes of everything she did and said and thought. It had been like a battle to ignore it and pretend she was normal and unaffected, but now that she addressed it, she felt its presence like a storm cloud, always there, always looming.

“Darker,” she said. Hermione felt the words as if they’d crawled up her throat, and wrenched her teeth open to escape. “I almost killed someone.”

At Dumbledore’s wide eyes, she said quickly, “Oh, it was a Death Eater. But I don’t… kill. That’s not me.”

“Perhaps you were grief-stricken?” He suggested and if anything, his calm and docile voice irritated her even more. “Or, perhaps your rage got the better of you for a moment. The key word, Miss Granger, is ‘almost’.”

“It’s the intent that scares me,” she told him.

Dumbledore regarded her. “Well, why didn’t you kill him then?”

“Someone stopped me.”

Avery’s name avoided her lips. The way the Professor’s eyes narrowed slightly made her think he knew anyway.

But he raised his arms wide, smiling genially, and said, “So you didn’t kill him. That is what matters, Miss Granger. We all have the ability to be evil. In the end, what matters is whether we choose to _act_ on that evil. There is a distinct different-”

“I meant to.”

He stopped and looked at her. “Excuse me?” Dumbledore asked politely.

Hermione swallowed back her reservations. She was shaking. Her heart was erratic, like a rabid animal, thrashing inside its fleshy prison as it tried to break loose. “I meant to kill him. I wanted to.”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything. She said quietly, “Voldemort did something to me. I don’t know what. I just-”

_The agony was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was like she was being torn apart, bit by bit, then stitched back together and she felt the needle piercing her skin, drawing blood and leaving a scar guideline all over her body. She didn’t know what happened but everything was black and Hermione couldn’t feel Voldemort on top of her because there was a heaviness all over, like life itself had turned against her and wanted to suffocate her._

_She could hardly breathe because there was so much darkness and Hermione wanted to scream or find something she could use to cut the darkness open because it was too much, or maybe cut herself open so that there would be some way for her lungs to get the oxygen they needed._

_She didn’t know how long she was stuck in the darkness, only that it soon got very quiet; so quiet, Hermione was scared to make a noise that would shatter it, just in case the shards slit her on their descent-_

“Just, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore prompted. Hermione sucked in a deep breath.

“After he killed Datner, he did something to me. I don’t know what. But there was so much darkness,” she spoke, the words falling from the tip of her tongue. The images flashed before her eyes and there was only _destruction_. “So much evil.”

“Miss Granger,” he said quietly. “That was five months ago. Why have you only come to see me now?”

Hermione blinked and the images disappeared. “Because I saw him. In my dreams, only it wasn’t a dream. I was sleeping but it wasn’t a dream. He was somehow in my mind, talking to me. He-he looked… less human- closer to the monster I remember from my time.”

Dumbledore watched her carefully. She said, “It was like what used to happen to Harry. But that was because he was a-”

It was sudden, so sudden it winded her, knocked the air from her lungs. Hermione forgot how to breathe. The horror of the notion crawled up her throat and she couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be-

But she knew it was true. Everything made sense: Datner’s death; the darkness; the flashbacks; the fact she had been unconscious for _two weeks_ ; why it was so easy for her to escape; the urge to kill the Death Eater-

She was a horcrux.

Hermione stumbled out of her chair, ignoring whatever Dumbledore said to her. She had to get out of there. If he didn’t know yet, he would find out soon. It was so _glaringly_ _obvious_ now that she thought about it. The only thing she couldn’t understand was _why-?_

She supposed it was because putting a piece of his soul inside of her would allow him to influence her, _own_ her, and by that logic, her knowledge of the future. But she hadn’t told him anything! He hadn’t forced her to. She hadn’t even seen Voldemort since that day!

 _And they wouldn’t kill you_ , a small voice said at the back of her mind. _He knows that. He knows they could never destroy you, even if it would destroy him. He knows that, as long as a part of him resides in you, he’s alive. And safe._

_Would Dumbledore kill you?_

The question stopped her short. If he knew, _would_ he kill her? He’d raised Harry, knowing his fate, like a pig for slaughter. Why wouldn’t he do the same to her?

_Because you know things. You know the future. Not even Dumbledore can resist that sort of temptation. He’s been tempted by greatness before-_

His hand on her arm wrenched her back to reality. He had stood up now, and his eyes bore into her. “Miss Granger, are you alright?”

Hermione stared up at him. She nodded, “Yeah.”

She stepped out of his reach, and towards the door. “Thank you, Professor. You’ve been enormous help but I- I think I’m just paranoid. Being cooped up all day, after what happened. I- I just need to sleep.”

She sent him a tight-lipped smile and left before he could say anything more. Hermione ran through the castle, and the horror still threatened to make her throw up or scream or curl up on the floor and cry but she couldn’t do any of that. She needed to leave, to get out of the school and back to her room. Daylight had broken through the clouds, and she wondered vaguely how long she’d been there for. The thought didn’t touch her mind for long, however, as she got past the gates and apparated away.

Despite the earliness of the hour, Headquarters was teeming. Hermione’s worries froze in her body at the sight of James and Marlene, laughing on the settee. She glanced outside. It was dawn- the raid had started. Why weren’t they fighting?

She headed for them, and James caught sight of her, grinning.

“What are you all still doing here?” Hermione demanded frantically, the blood pounding in her head. James’s grin faded and he shared a look with Marlene, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows.

“Hermione, what are you talking about?”

The panic flared up inside of her, rash and vehement. She shook her head. _Oh God_. They weren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to be-

Instead of answering, she said insistently, “Didn’t you see the note?”

It was Marlene who answered this time, bewildered. “What note? There was no-”

“There was a note,” Hermione said firmly. Her eyes were wide and she knew the desperation in them must make her look wild. She swallowed and her throat was dry and sore. “I left a note. You must’ve seen it! I wrote everything down and I left it for-”

 _Caradoc_.

The realisation hit her, like a bulldozer ploughing into her lungs and forcing them to collapse, or a spell making impact with her chest and stopping her heart still in its ribbed cage. There was no Caradoc to leave a note to. No wonder they hadn’t found the note- she had addressed it to a ghost.

“Well, why couldn’t you have just told us?” James asked, and his face which used to be so soft was hardened, as it always was in Headquarters. It was the face of someone who had seen far too much death. “Where did you go?”

“I had to talk to Dumbledore,” she replied distractedly.

Marlene looked frazzled. “Couldn’t it have waited?”

“No.”

Hermione stood on the empty space on the settee next to James and raised her voice so that they could all hear her. She shouted, “Listen up! I need a group to come out on a last minute mission. I know it’s short-notice but this is a big one!”

Benjy, who was sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen, downed the rest of his firewhiskey before slamming the glass on the counter. He hoisted himself up, a long and ragged sigh leaving his lips, before he said, “Well, count me in.”

He came to stand by her side. Hermione looked down at him in surprise. “Just like that? But I haven’t even told you the details-!”

“So what? They’re all the same. We go out, we fight, some of us die.” Benjy looked up at her with his big brown eyes. His hair was no longer the electrocuted afro of curls it once was. At some point during the war, he had shaved it all off and it was a short buzz-cut, his hair spiky points now. Hermione was struck by how different they _all_ were, how haunted the war had made them. She wasn’t the only one whose soul had withered in her chest. The thought was strangely comforting. He shrugged. "It’s no different to any of the others. I signed up for it a long time ago, the moment you walked into Dumbledore’s office.”

His voice lowered, his eyes melted and he looked up at her and said, “I’ve stuck with you this far, Peach, what’s another mission?”

Hermione reached for his hand, holding it briefly. He squeezed her fingers.

“I’m up for it,” Frank said. He’d been standing in the kitchen but came closer when he spoke. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and said, “Alice and Neville are with my mum. I’ll be back before it gets dark. Do we have any info on it?”

“Apparently, it’s important,” Hermione told them. “The high-ranking Death Eaters will be there.”

“We’re not prepared for this,” Marlene said irritably.

“How important?” Mary asked, ignoring her friend.

Hermione remembered what Avery had said.

_“I don’t know what he’s after exactly. Information, I think.”_

_She frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “About what?”_

_Avery’s eyes raised to her. He said steadily, “Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?”_

She cleared her throat. “Incredibly.”

Mary nodded, her dark eyes bright in her solemn face. She said, “Okay. I’ll come.”

Peter, holding her hand, went pale beside her. He spoke as though the words were forcing their way out of his mouth, as though he didn’t want to say them but knew he had to. “Me too.”

Hermione’s eyes lingered on him. Peter hadn’t been very active in the fighting. He’d fought in the beginning, but it had haunted him in a way the others could cope with and he seemingly couldn’t. After his fourth mission, Peter had returned and silently gone straight to his room, locking himself in. No one, not even Mary, had seen him for a week. When he’d returned, he hadn’t been the same.

“I’ll come too,” said James, although she could see the way his bones sagged and he reached up to rub at his tired eyes. When he moved forward, Hermione put her hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“No,” she said. He frowned. “You’re going to go home to Lily and your son, and you’re going to love them both and then _sleep_. We can handle this.”

James stared at her, checking her eyes for any waver of indecision, but he must’ve found none for he bowed his head in acceptance, and stepped back.

Dorcas said, without any care, “I’m in. I always am.”

“Where’s Em?” Benjy asked.

She flicked her cat-like eyes to him. “Emmeline’s sleeping, and God knows she needs it. Just so long as someone’s here to tell her where I’ve gone.”

Marlene looked at them all, incredulity creasing her face and making her look much older than she was. Sceptical, she said, “Can’t this be one mission we skip out on? Merlin knows we’ve fought enough! What’s one less?”

Hermione swallowed, shaking her head. “This is important. This could be the difference between Voldemort’s rise to power and his demise-”

“So what are all the other missions for?” Marlene demanded. “Lately, it feels as though everything is null and void. All our effort, our life…”

“Marls-” Mary began, holding out her hand. Marlene stepped out of her reach.

“No.” She shook her head, blonde hair flying wildly. “We just fight… That's all we're good for, isn't it? We're only here to do or die-”

 _"It will be fine!"_ Peter stressed, and there was a careful strain to his voice. They all looked at him. "Every time in history, the bad guys have lost, okay? It will be fine! We will win."

Those three final words choked the room into silence.

Hermione suddenly realised what the real reason behind Peter's love for History of Magic was. In history, you learn of the triumphs. You hear the victories and the way those victories have shaped the world and, by that logic, you. But despite the many deaths (and yes, there were many), the good guys always won.

She guessed that was why he liked that book of his too.

Because the good guys always won.

Hermione stared at him. He was no longer the small, mousy boy with the big ears and lopsided grin that she had met all those years ago. Peter had put on weight, where everyone else had lost it. It seemed like for every meal the others skipped, he ensured to eat for them. He was darker now; they all were, but there was an obvious smudge under his eyes and around the swell of his cheeks and chin, and she vaguely wondered whether he was still headed down that same route she had tried so hard to divert him from.

She hoped, for his sake, and the sake of everyone else's, that he was not. Mary was holding his hand so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

Marlene looked at him. She looked so _tired,_ so _done_. Hermione said to her, “Why don’t you sleep? We’ll be back before you even wake up.”

Marlene watched her, eyes hard. In the end, she just nodded, turning around and walking to her room. The door slammed shut behind her.

James moved over to Hermione, squeezing her shoulder. He said in a low voice, “Tea will be waiting on the table. I’ll see you later.”

The team she had assembled didn’t seem shaken by Marlene’s outburst. Hermione was partially relieved. It wouldn’t help if they all started getting cold feet now- they were too far in, too close to winning this war for good.

Benjy clapped his hands together and said, “Right! Let’s go fight some bad guys!”

As they readied themselves, collecting whatever they thought they might need, Hermione let her eyes trace over them. They ran over Benjy, chatting animatedly with Frank, and Mary, who was grinning toothily at the pair of them. Dorcas had gone to kiss Emmeline’s forehead goodbye. Peter had slipped away. She noticed him standing in the corner, and walked over to stand next to him.

“I’m a coward,” Peter said glumly. His eyes were tracing the grooves in the wooden floor, and his voice was barely a murmur.

Hermione looked at him. “Not wanting to fight doesn’t make you a coward, Peter. It makes you normal.”

“But you don’t mind fighting. You’re good at it.”

She licked her lips and said quietly, “Yeah and look where it got me- trapped in the past, and all my friends dead. You’re not a coward, Pete. You’re human. And that’s not a bad thing.”

He nodded, but his downcast eyes told her he wasn’t entirely convinced. Hermione said, “Listen to me. If you were a coward, you wouldn’t be here now, fighting for your friends. You’d be dead in a ditch or hiding in a cave. You’d be fighting for the other side. You’re braver than you think, Peter. You always have been.”

Peter finally looked at her and there was such a strong conviction in his eyes. He was still shaking, like a leaf in the wind, but he tightened his jaw resolutely. “Let’s go win, then.”

**oOoOoOo**

The village was smoking when they got there. Fire roared, leaping into the sky to try and return home to the sun, which was concealed behind thick and black clouds. Hermione didn’t know whether a storm was coming, or whether they were a result of the dark magic she could feel, heavy, on the air.

They had all witnessed countless pilgrimages, but never one like this. You could feel the intent, heavy and desperate, on the air.

“What are we looking for?” Frank asked, wand out.

Hermione took a breath to steady herself. “We’re not looking for anything. We’re here as a distraction so that _they_ don’t find whatever it is _they’re_ looking for.”

Benjy rolled his shoulders. “Distraction,” he repeated, tongue relishing the word. That old spark appeared in his eyes. “I can distract.”

And distract they did.

They leapt into action, splitting into pairs and branching off down the alleyways, alongside the burning buildings. Hermione stuck close to Dorcas, knowing the latter was a formidable witch. She was ruthless, cunning and quick, as was evident when a Death Eater stepped into their eyesight and she nonverbally stupefied him. Hermione oblivated him as Dorcas kept look out, then they moved on.

“How many Death Eaters are we expecting?” Dorcas questioned, alert eyes scanning every inch of the village she could see.

“Twelve,” Hermione replied. “Or that’s what my source reckons.”

A small smirk curled Dorcas’ lips. “Your source? It’s not that Slytherin that used to be obsessed with you, is it? Back in Hogwarts?”

Hermione huffed. “He wasn’t obsessed with me.”

“Ah right. Of course, the obsession was on your side, right?”

Hermione sent a spark of red magic her way and Dorcas laughed silently, biting her tongue to avoid making any noise. That was probably why she didn’t notice the Death Eater advancing towards them.

“ _Everte_ _Statum_!” Hermione exclaimed, flicking her wand, and he went flying backwards, crashing through a hole in a burning house. They both heard his screams as the fire claimed him, but carried on moving.

“Two down,” Dorcas said.

“Ten to go,” Hermione finished.

She cast a tracking spell, locating a group of four Death Eaters in the next street over and cut through a largely intact building to get to them. They couched among the debris, and Hermione whispered disillusionment charms.

Dorcas murmured, “I’ll go for the two on the right. You go for that mountain of a man and his mate.”

Hermione swore under her breath. “It’s going to take two stupefys to take him out!”

“Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll help,” Dorcas smirked. They pounced almost in sync.

‘ _Macula_ ,’ Hermione thought, putting all of her magic into the spell. She knew it was strong enough to take effect for the dark blue spell hit the larger of the two Death Eaters square in the back, and he staggered wildly, swinging out when he was suddenly rendered blind. It was easier to incapacitate him now, and deal with him later.

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

His friend, the smaller one, fell to the floor, legs locked, arms jammed by his side. Only his eyes were free to swivel in their sockets. She turned to the first Death Eater, grimacing when she had to crane her neck back just to look up at his face. He was still thrashing about, and Hermione tried a few spells but the sheer size of him cancelled them all out.

A snarl from behind her made her realise, chilling her blood, that the disillusionment charm had worn off. One of the Death Eaters Dorcas had targeted narrowed his eyes on her, shooting out a green jet of light which she couldn’t mistake. Hermione ducked, watching as the spell found her own opponent and he dropped to the floor. Well. That did the job too.

She looked at the caster, who had turned a nasty shade of purple at her act, and she could see the next spell on the tip of his tongue, when he was suddenly flung up into the air, ropes tangling around his body to leave him hanging there. Hermione breathed out.

Dorcas stood behind him, hairline bleeding. Hermione frowned and clambered to her feet, reaching out to hold the other girl’s face so she could heal it.

“Bit of dark magic,” Dorcas supplied, tilting her head to the side. “It just grazed me.”

“Well, either way, you managed to save me, so thank you.”

Dorcas shrugged, eyes locked on the rubble to their right. “You’d do the same for me.”

Suddenly, cutting through the hissing of the fire, they heard a frantic yell. There was only one shared glance between them, before they raced in the direction of the sound, as fast as their legs could carry them. They slipped down side streets, and through collapsed shops, before they reached a clearing. Dorcas’ gasp was sharp at the sight that greeted them.

Mary and Peter were being held by three Death Eaters. They were slowly turning pink as the oxygen was scraped from their lungs and kept well away from their lips. Peter had blood dripping down his face, and his shirt was soaked in it. Benjy and Frank stood opposite them, looking as though they’d fought hard; they were covered in dirt and smog, blackening their skin and clothes, and Benjy seemed to be holding his elbow to his chest, as though it was broken.

Hermione said quickly and quietly, “We can take them on. Benjy’s injured- he’ll be sloppy. Frank will act when we do. We need to free Mary and Pete and then it will be six take three.”

Dorcas nodded, but her wide eyes were glued to Mary. Hermione gripped her hand tight, and her attention switched to her instead. Dorcas nodded again, more resolutely this time. They stood up from their hiding places.

The Death Eaters noticed them only when the first spell left her lips. The one who wasn’t restraining anyone fired one of his own back at her, and Hermione deflected the stunning spell easily. She was momentarily surprised at the red light, although knew she shouldn’t be. Of course Voldemort would order them not to kill her, or hurt her too badly. It was _his_ soul they would be attacking after all.

“ _Tarantallegra_!” Hermione exclaimed, not bothering to watch as the Death Eater lost control, and his legs started dancing wildly. She could see Dorcas in the corner of her eye, running towards Mary.

Hermione headed for Peter. She stopped, long enough for her to think forcefully, _‘Nefas!’_

The Death Eater holding Peter was blasted away, the purple light repelling his hands off of Pete almost as if he’d been burnt, or blown up at the contact. She grabbed Peter, dragging him back, and he twisted in her grip, trying frantically to catch sight of Mary.

He said raggedly, “Hermione- Hermione, stop! _Where is she?_ Where-?”

The scream came from Dorcas. Mary looked shocked, and the emotion made her appear much younger, like a small child with blushed cheeks and wide eyes. Her hands were frozen by her torso, not quite touching, hovering there but there was nothing they could do. The spell had sliced her across the gut, and the blood poured, drenching her shirt and forming a puddle on the floor by her feet. Dorcas quickly disposed of the Death Eater who had dealt the spell, flicking him away with more power than the spell usually required. He hit a nearby building with a sickening crack, his head lolling back on his neck.

Peter went still and then wrenched his arm out of Hermione’s grasp and raced towards her body. She hit the floor delicately, like a baby bird might, and he kneeled beside her, clutching her hands, kissing her face. His wide eyes trailed over her cut, shaking violently. He lifted his wand to try and do something but there was nothing- no counter spell, no remedy. Mary was bleeding out. Not even the most complex healing charm would save her now.

Hermione stood and stared from the other side of the clearing, feeling her body go numb. Benjy and Frank had paused in what they were doing, but hadn’t moved closer. It was like the spluttering and choking that now filled the otherwise silent night rendered them immobile.

The dancing Death Eater had managed to utter the counter-curse, and he started towards her. Hermione stumbled backwards, jolted back into motion, firing spell after spell, but he either deflected them or stepped out of their path. Everyone else was too far away to help- they would never make it in time, and the distance would hinder their accuracy even if they did notice. She tripped over something, a bolder of debris, and went crashing down, her wand slipping from her grip. Hastily, she started crawling towards it, needing to get it back as soon as she possibly could. Her heart was pounding ferociously, proof that she was alive, but that little detail could very quickly change in a beat of it-

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Hermione launched herself on her wand, knowing in her mind that it was too late, but refusing to lay down and accept it. She saw the green light in her peripheral vision, stole one last breath and waited for it to hit her-

She waited some more.

The Death Eater dropped in front of her, his eyes cold and unseeing.

Hermione rolled onto her back, looking up, and she felt her jaw slacken. She forgot she was in a burning village, having been seconds after from death. She couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be-

_“Caradoc?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, don't you just love long chapters?  
> THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE! I LOVE WRITING ACTION!!!! So, I noticed a few of you realised what Voldemort had done to Hermione last chapter (cookies for you!)… Why do you think he’s done it? What do you think is going to happen to her now?  
> I have a feeling you guys will like this chapter as it’s a bit of well-needed action. I hope it doesn’t seem too rushed because of the (attempted) fast-pace of the actual fighting. All the spells are credit to JK Rowling- I try to use as many canonical ones as I can. It just makes it easier for everyone to understand their effect and intent as opposed to explaining each one separately.  
> Lots of questions from this chapter then:  
> What’s Hermione going to do now? Does Dumbledore know yet? Are the Order losing hope? Is Peter saved? Why is Voldemort wanting information on the Hallows? What’s going to happen now that Mary is dead? CARADOC????  
> Thank you guys for all your support. I love you all so so SO much! A few of you have found me on tumblr haha because I post about The Light on there from time to time, so if you have tumblr, follow me for a good and unhealthy dose of the Marauders and I’ll follow you back, at moonysfrexckles.  
> ALSO- WELL DONE to everyone who got their results!!! I hope you got the grades you wanted and if not, then I know you smart bunnies can go and wreak your brilliance in the world regardless!


	82. Chapter 82- The Warmth

** Chapter 82- The Warmth  **

**October 1980**

 

Hermione sat opposite him. He hadn't spoken since they'd gotten back but then again, neither had she. Her lips remained tightly sealed as she looked at him, and it was a good job too- she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping at the mere sight of him. He was meant to be _dead-_

"I know what you're thinking," Caradoc said finally. Hermione's eyes locked on his.

"Do you?"

He huffed a laugh, running his hand through his hair. They were still both dirty, covered in dried blood and dust. They'd only just arrived back at Headquarters; Peter carrying Mary's body as though she were a small child, clutching her to his chest. Her head had rested on his shoulder, and she'd looked like she was sleeping. Dorcas left to see Emmeline. Frank had apparated straight home.

"But it's not some sick prank. I'm here. I'm real-"

"Where were you?"

Caradoc sighed at her bluntness. She hadn't tried hard to hide it and his eyes flicked to her wand, trained on him. He said, "The Church collapsed around me and I got knocked out, hit my head. Next thing I know, I'm in a Muggle hospital and they tell me it's a miracle I ever woke up. They tried to find my family. I told them my family were dead." He shrugged. "It was the only truth I gave them-"

"You were gone _months_ ," Hermione said, her voice low and quiet so it wouldn't break.

Caradoc opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He took a deep breath through his nose and said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

Hermione wanted to forgive him, she'd missed his unwavering presence more than she'd care to admit. But the sorry, despite knowing he meant it with every morsel of his being, fell flat on his tongue. Sorry wouldn't make up for the crushing guilt she'd felt, the nights she'd laid in bed and cried herself to sleep because she hadn't watched his back and now he was dead because of it.

But he wasn't dead. He was sitting in front of her, breathing, alive.

"I wish I'd stayed in the coma a little longer," Caradoc said quietly. "Then I could've woken up to a better world, when the war was over."

Hermione just stared at him, eyes blank at the brief smile he sent her. After a moment, she stood up and left to her room. The door swung shut behind her. She heard his ragged sigh, but paid it no notice, returning seconds later with a box, which she dropped on the seat beside him.

Caradoc watched her in surprise.

Then, he lowered his eyes and allowed his brow to furrow. "What’s this?”

She didn't reply, but put her wand away instead. He spared her a glance, before fixing his attention on the box, which he slid closer to him and popped off the lid.

Caradoc hadn't had a lot of possessions, she realised when she'd gone into his empty room a week after his ‘death’ and collected them all together. They could fit into a small rectangular box, with room to spare. He had a battered copy of Wind in the Willows; a potted cactus that had hissed at her and made her bleed the first time she had tried to feed it; a cassette that was spluttering up its tape like entrails; a broken violin bow; his old Slytherin tie (that had admittedly surprised her, but she’d known Dearborn was a Pureblood name and he was far more ambitious and cunning than she’d ever given him credit for); and a small folded up picture of what she assumed was his family.

He ran his thumb over the photograph now. Hermione watched him, and pretended not to notice the way his teeth worried his lower lip as he bit back a sob, and how his eyes widened as he turned over the contents of the box. She ignored the way he gently caressed the broken bow, and pricked his finger lovingly on the cactus (which preened in delight at his touch); she averted her eyes when he flicked through Wind in the Willows, and started to half-feed the tape back through the cassette before giving up and bringing the green silk tie to his cheek. He replaced everything gently, with feather-light touches. Caradoc raised his eyes to hers after a few stolen moments. The awe in them shone.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione cut him off before he had the chance, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Her voice trembled and she was too angry to cry, but he just shook his head and promised, “I won’t.”

 

**oOoOoOo**

**December 1980**

Christmas rolled around in no time, bringing with it miniature avalanches and nippy winds that tore at them every time they left the house, and wriggled into their beds when they were sleeping. Eventually, the pain that had presented itself at Caradoc’s reveal numbed, and although the rest of the Order welcomed him back with relief (for he was regiment and drive in an otherwise hopeless war), Hermione found herself watching him extra closely. Of course, it wasn’t his fault that he’d been rescued by Muggles and trapped in a coma, but she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken for him to find his way back to her, to them all, once he’d woken up.

It took two months for her to finally realise that it didn’t matter- he was here now, alive, fighting beside them once more, where he belonged.

Hermione had woken up late on Christmas, deigning to remain in the snug cocoon she had created for herself than to venture into the cold. It was the sort of cold that, once it got to you, gnawed at your very bones and made it almost impossible for you to get warm again. She’d put off having to get up until Lily had apparated straight into her bedroom (how she’d gotten past the wards, Hermione had no idea) and demanded she couldn’t sleep what may well be their very last Christmas away. Hermione sobered at that, telling the other woman not to think such things, but Lily had seemed unconcerned, and merely threw her clothes at her. Grouchily, and carefully so as to not tempt the redhead’s temper, Hermione had gotten dressed, allowing Lily to run a brush through her tangled hair before she’d apparated the pair of them to Godric’s Hollow.

The boys were already there, spaced out in the living room. James was feeding Harry in his lap, and when the infant caught sight of Hermione, his lips opened wide in a smile around the teat of the bottle, causing the milk to dribble down his chin. James snorted gently, wiping his son’s face with his bib. He raised his eyes to her then, which danced when he asked, “Finally decided to show yourself then?”

Hermione huffed, throwing herself down on the settee next to Sirius. His arm was already stretched along the top of the cushion and his fingers curled to stroke her bare arm. She sent him a smile. “Well, I was planning on having a nice, relaxed day for a change until your wife appeared and reminded me that I may not live to see next Christmas.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. Remus choked. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. The thought was actually not as absurd as they made it out to be, but they ignored that small detail. Lily shrugged, moving to sit next to James and making a face at Harry.

“I actually didn’t specify which one of us might not make it,” she said, matter-of-fact. “It’s open game. You’re all easy pickings.”

James looked at her exasperatedly, and muttered, “Charming.”

She pecked his cheek, surrendering her finger to Harry’s tiny hands. “One of us has to be.”

The day had passed in a blur. They hadn’t bothered with presents because there was no time to worry with them, but that didn’t make it any less special. Once they’d put Harry to bed, Sirius had declared war when he’d noticed that the baby’s favourite teddy was not a dog, but in fact a wolf. Remus was exasperated and had therefore been caught entirely unaware when Sirius had hoisted him over his shoulder, carrying him all the way through the house and out the back door where he dropped him in the snow. A colossal snow fight had ensued, but it had not lasted long. Lily had tackled James who had ended up barrelling into the rest of them and they had all gone down like dominoes. They laid in the snow, relishing in the stinging of their skin as it melted on their faces, succumbing to the beating of their hearts. They were ephemeral, like this happiness they gasped for, but they were alive at the moment. That’s what mattered.

Now, much later that evening, Lily and Hermione worked in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the lot of them. It was nice, she thought. She’d always liked cooking Christmas dinner with her mother, enjoying the timing and theory behind picking out what went well with what- it was like a less complex version of potions making. The preparation was complete- although both women now had flour laced through their hair from the fight they’d had when making the fruit cake just minutes ago- so there was not much left to do except wait. Remus and Sirius were in the next room over, amusing Harry.

James entered the kitchen, shaking off the snow that had lightly dusted along his shoulders. He unravelled his scarf, patted his hands together to remove the ice on his gloves (much to Lily’s chagrin, as it rained on the floor) and shrugged off his coat. He raised his eyes forlornly to Hermione and said, “I think maybe you should talk to him.”

She felt her throat stick, but managed to get out, “Me? I- James, I don’t know-”

“Well, he refuses to acknowledge me, much less talk to me,” he told her. He sighed and his voice softened. “Please, Hermione. I know you he’ll listen to you.”

Hermione frowned at the plea in James’ eyes and huffed, snatching the coat out of his hands. He offered her a smile, but she ignored it, making her way out the door he had come through.

The cold was biting but tender, caressing her face as soon as she stepped outside. The snowstorm was little more than a flurry that half-heartedly embraced her, leaving little specks on her nose and eyelashes. She spotted him at the bottom of the small garden, stood in front of the crumbling brick wall, his eyes scraping the top of it and landing deep in the meadow behind the house. Hermione shoved her hands under her armpits to keep them warm and made her way towards him. He noticed her when she stopped next to him, for his breath came out as a shudder through his lips, but didn’t comment. The silence was too loud; the wind hummed quietly, lacing through the long grass, and whistling through the holes in the brickwork. She had barely seen Peter, let alone had the chance to talk to him, since that late October night. He had locked himself away, only coming out to attend the brief funeral they’d held for Mary. Even then, he had stood at the front, away from everyone else, and stayed at the shallow and pathetic excuse of a grave for hours after the rest of the Order had left, longer than even Marlene. And then he’d disappeared again, as though he had died with Mary and all that remained was the ghost of who he used to be. He flickered between existing and not-existing beside her now, his breath the only indication of his life as it froze and stilled on the air.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said quietly. They stared out into the night.

Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

She smiled bitterly, shooting him a glance. He kept his eyes ahead. “Do you really believe that?”

There was a moment or two of silence, when he didn’t reply and Hermione felt her suspicions confirm themselves. She managed to muffle the sigh, but it came out as a long exhalation through her nose instead. Peter then said, “Yes.”

And it surprised her so much, her head shot to him. He still didn’t look at her.

“I really believe that.”

Hermione continued to stare at him, eyes lingering on the dark shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. She said coaxingly, “Come on. It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside.”

Surprisingly, Peter let her put a careful and feather-light arm around his waist and guide him back to the house. The warmth and light enveloped them immediately, and he seemed to melt into her. Hermione could feel the iciness of his skin, and as they both discarded their winter clothing, she summoned a blanket from the living room and wrapped it around his shoulders. James was leaning against the countertop of the poky kitchen, and he straightened when he saw them. Lily was already waiting with a hot chocolate, as if she’d known all along. She probably had. The maternal instincts on that woman had always been admirable.

Peter sent them all a faint smile before he disappeared out of the kitchen. Hermione looked at James, who was staring at her expectantly.

“He’s fine,” she told them. Lily let out a little breath.

James folded his arms, then dropped them in the same second. He said, “You’re sure?”

Hermione sat in the nearest chair, feeling the ice in her hair melt away and drip down her neck. She rolled her head back to alleviate the coldness. “The love of his life died, James. How long would it take you to get over it?”

James swallowed and his eyes darted to Lily, who was looking at the floor. Hermione knew what he was thinking. _Never._

“He will be fine,” she said instead. He nodded, knowing it was the surest verdict he would get. Hermione vaguely wondered whether she was right. But she remembered the darkness in his eyes, the shadows of his face, and Hermione vaguely wondered whether she was right.

**oOo**

"You're good with children," Sirius said from the doorway. His eyes were dark and soft as they watched Remus play with Harry, bouncing him up and making funny noises that elicited the biggest of toothless smiles from the baby. They’d been assigned baby-duty, if only for the fact that they were the last ones to leave the room.

Remus’ eyes barely touched him, but he smiled, shrugging, and said, "I was often in charge of the cubs in the den. It was the only thing that got me through it."

Sirius' face hardened then, just slightly. He tried to forget that Remus was expected to go back again after New Year. He still hadn’t had the chance to talk to him; when he first returned, they’d only had a few weeks before he was snatched away again. This time, they’d had longer as Remus had come back at the end of November. It still wasn’t long enough. Sirius doubted it ever would be until he was safely and securely back with him.

He swallowed thickly. It was so hard to look at Remus now and pretend he was still just _Remus_ to him. Of course, there had always been something else in his mind when he’d regarded his friend, even back in Hogwarts. James had been his brother, Pete had been his best friend but Remus- Remus had been like the steady flame flickering through the darkness. It was always Remus he seemed to rely on and Sirius couldn’t get that night out of his mind. He remembered the way Remus’ lips had felt against his, how all of their fractured pieces had fitted together and how the explosions of his atoms had silenced. He was so noisy all the time that a bit of peace and quiet was nice. It was welcome. Only Sirius hadn’t been able to revisit that peace and quiet because he hadn’t had the guts to fucking _talk_ to Remus about it. Some bloody Gryffindor.

He was equal parts glad and frustrated when he noticed James and Peter enter the living room, talking animatedly. Somehow, James was managing to make Pete laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Pete laugh. His words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even contemplate shoving them back in.

“I’m gay.”

His friends looked at him, too absorbed in their own conversation to have heard what he’d said. James said apologetically, “What was that, Pads?”

Sirius hesitated for a second. Then, he looked at Remus, eyes lingering on the gold of his hair, of the perpetual curve of his mouth, as though he was always smiling slightly, or amused at a joke the rest of the world failed to understand. He noticed the way his hair hadn’t been cut and had begun to curl desperately by the nape of his neck, and how his face radiated sunbeams when he grinned at Harry. He wasn’t listening, sat in the corner of the room as though only he and the baby existed. Sirius remembered when it had been only _him_ and Remus existing, like time had stopped for them. He inhaled deeply, chest inflating before deflating and he said, “I’m gay.”

The silence was palpable. Only Harry could be heard, cooing as Remus continued to play with him, oblivious to the discussion going on only two metres away. For once, Sirius found he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He focused on James and Peter. They had frozen, but it wasn’t one of horror, Sirius noted with a jolt of relief, more surprise.

“What?” Peter asked, as the only one brave enough to break the shocked state that had settled on them. He had noticed the quietness of Sirius’ tone, and made sure to maintain it.

“I'm coming out. This is me stepping out of the closet.”

“Were you ever in?” James asked, squinting.

That threw him off. It was not the response he had been expecting. Sirius shot him an exasperated look. “This is supposed to be a very touching, sentimental moment for us all and a milestone in our friendship. Play along, will you? I'd rather not step back in.”

“So,” Peter said, face screwed up in concentration. His eyebrows were pulled together in a frown and he spoke slowly so that he could understand. “You’re gay?”

Sirius considered this for a moment, now that he had full control of what did and did not leave his lips.

“Or is just that you like everything with a pulse?” James suggested.

Sirius pointed at him. “That one.”

James pondered this for a moment before he shared a look with Peter.

Pete shrugged. “We know.”

Sirius’s eyes shot to them, and he looked between the two of them incredulously, demanding, _“You know?”_

James scoffed. “Of course we know! The whole bloody school knew! Hell, _Binns_ knew- and he’s dead!”

Sirius scratched his chin slowly, switching his attention between them as though they were absurd. He was evidently mulling this over for he clicked his tongue and said in a carefully balanced voice, so as to not give anything away, “How long have you known?”

James sent him a look that clearly told him the question was a stupid one.

“Literally the first conversation we had was you telling me I had pretty eyes that matched my ass,” he exclaimed disbelievingly, and Sirius’ cheeks went pink but it seemed more to do with the notion of Professor Binns seeing through his eleven year old charade than his commendation of James’ arse.

That, he appeared to stand by whole-heartedly.

“Whose eyes match their arse?” Remus questioned mildly as Hermione entered the room, handing him a cup of tea. It seemed her arrival had dragged him out of his little bubble.

Sirius saw this as an excuse to pause the ‘moment’, as he had dubbed it, and he fell uncharacteristically subdued at the voice of Remus, who looked more than amused at what he assumed was a petty argument. Peter tilted his neck back and informed them, “Sirius is gay.”

“I’m not gay,” he denied, adamantly avoiding Remus’ eyes, which had shot to him at this revelation. “It’s more than that.”

“Are you pansexual?” Hermione asked. Sirius frowned. At four very blank looks, she sighed and elaborated, “Attracted to all sex and genders.”

“Oh,” his frown cleared. “Yes. I suppose I am, if that’s what it’s called.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly as he dared to question her intelligence. “That _is_ what it’s called.”

Sirius nodded, eyes flicking to the werewolf in the corner. Remus shifted in his seat, adjusting Harry so the baby was curled up against his chest. He stared at the floor. Sirius wished he would raise his eyes just a little and look at him.

He licked his lips, letting out a shaky breath before he said, “And I’m- God, why is this so fucking difficult?- I’m in love with Remus.”

The lack of response made his heart beat so loud he could hear it in his head, and he desperately wished someone would _say something_ so he didn’t have to listen to it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” James let out the curse as a hiss through his teeth. Remus lowered his eyes to the floor, but they shot back up when his friend then said, “She’s going to be so smug!”

“What?” Sirius demanded.

Lily chose that second to stumble upon the scene, humming to herself. When their attention simultaneously fell on her, she paused. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I owe you,” James told her glumly. “What was it again, thirty galleons?”

Lily frowned slightly and then her eyes flicked to both Remus and Sirius and a smile lit up her entire face. “Thirty five,” she corrected, the smile curling slightly higher at one corner of her lips than the other, making her smile more like a smirk. Her eyes twinkled and he gulped. “But I’m sure you can find some other method of payment. For example, and this is just off the top of my head, nappy duty for a year.”

“ _A year?!”_

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, alright,” she conceded. “Half a year.”

“Half a-” James spluttered, but he’d known his young wife long enough to know that this would probably be the best deal he was getting. “ _Fine.”_

“Hang on,” Remus interrupted, words muffled by the hand that was partially covering his face. His looked at them through his fingertips. “You mean to tell me that you made a bet on our sexuality.”

“Your combined sexuality,” corrected James. At the way Remus’ eyes narrowed, he winced. “That does not make it better.”

Sirius stared at his best friend with wide, incredulous eyes. He demanded, “How did you know?”

This time, instead of acting as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, James blushed slightly and mumbled, “You two. You just… click.”

Hermione wondered whether it was the way he said it or his actual words that had the biggest impact but the room was thrown into silence. He was right. James and Sirius were best friends, brothers, as close as you could possibly be to another person. They were the same soul in two separate bodies… But Remus and Sirius were two entirely different souls that seemed to be drawn together. If there were such a thing as soulmates, James would’ve put money on the definition of the word simply being his two friends’ names. There was just something so naturally lovely about them, so adoring and protective and beautiful in an entirely different sense of the words. They were best friends, but Remus and Sirius weren’t brothers, they were soulmates; whether soulmates existed or not, it was as simple as that. Sirius was the stars, and Remus was the moon; it was almost poetic for them to co-exist in the darkness. Almost like they were made for it.

Remus passed Harry to Hermione, who happened to be sitting closest. He stood up, and the look on his face was frozen in surprise as he stopped in front of Sirius.

“You’re in love with me?” He asked quietly.

Sirius felt like his entire body was pulsing, and he breathed in shakily, letting the air rush back out of his mouth. He nodded raggedly and whispered, “ _Yeah_.”

Remus’ eyebrows were still quirked in that small frown of puzzlement. Sirius wanted to reach up and smooth it away but before he had the chance, Remus’s fingers were tickling his jaw as he lifted his chin up and kissed him. It was a feather kiss, with all the softness of making a wish on a dandelion, and it was over before Sirius could even think gather his eclectic thoughts together.

When Remus pulled away, Sirius realised his eyes were still closed, fluttering behind his eyelids, and his lips were pink. He wanted to kiss him again.

Instead, he tried to clear his thoughts, rubbing his face and groaning when he realised. “I can’t believe you all _knew_.”

“If it makes you feel better,” said James. “I have to be the sole nappy changer for six months.”

“You know, that does make me feel a little better,” Sirius admitted. James scowled at him, but he just flashed him a dazzling smile.

“I always wondered why you never tried getting it on with Marlene,” Peter said thoughtfully. Sirius snorted.

“No, that was simply because she was a bitch.”

Lily swatted his leg. He yowled, leaping backwards and throwing his arms around Remus, who stumbled from his weight. Sirius wailed, “Protect me, Moony! She’s deadly and evil!”

Remus rolled his eyes. Peter started laughing, clutching at his stomach. Lily simply bared her teeth at him, but her façade was short-lived when she couldn’t help herself and broke down giggling. James watched his friends as though they were mad.

Hermione bounced Harry on her lap, cradling him close. She pointed to them and said, “See those people, Harry? They’re your family. I know they look crazy, and they are, but they love you more than life itself. They always will.”

**oOo**

“There you are,” said Hermione when she entered the kitchen. Remus craned his neck back, shooting her a smile. After eating, they’d all retired to the living room, apart from Remus, who appeared to have drawn the short straw and was now washing up.

“Here I am,” he affirmed, turning back round to wash the dish he was holding. Hermione walked up, stopping beside him. She reached for the soaping utensils in the draining rack and started to try them with a tea towel. They worked in content quiet for a moment, but she could feel the words burning Remus’ mouth every time he looked at her. He shuffled. Eventually, he broke.

“Hermione,” Remus said nervously. “I want to explain… Sirius and I, we’re… _Merlin_ , I don’t know-”

She just smiled at him. “You’re Sirius and Remus. You are what you’ve always been. Only now you’re realising it.”

He swallowed, glancing away momentarily. “I want you to know that I do love you,” said Remus, and he seemed to be fraying with the truth and weight of the words. Hermione reached out and took his soapy hand.

“I know,” she said softly. “I love you too. It’s just not the love we need to piece us back together again.”

They finished the dishes without talking. When they were done, Hermione offered him the towel and he took it gratefully, drying his hands. She moved over to the coat rack, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a small present. It was carefully wrapped in newspaper (she hadn’t had any wrapping paper) and finished with a satin bow which Hermione had unravelled from one of her dresses. She doubt she’d get the chance to wear it anytime soon.

Turning back to him, she presented it in her hands. Remus opened his mouth in shock, lips working to say something but all he did was stutter.

"But I thought we weren't doing..." he managed to get out, trailing off, looking down at the present in shock. Then, guilt stole his features. "I didn't get you anything."

Hermione took hold of his hand and popped the box down on his palm. She smiled. "Well, I don't need anything."

"Neither do I-"

"Just say thank you and open it, Remus," she told him patiently.

Remus gave her a bashful smile, his cheeks and ears tinged a deep pink and he said, "Thank you."

Gently, with such careful hands, he undid the bow, slipping his finger under the cellotape to pop the paper open. It was with such tenderness that he opened the box, that she saw every emotion pass his face; the surprise, the love, the heartbreak.

The little forget-me-not flower was bright blue, charmed to stay that way forever, or at least until Hermione’s magic died.

"So you don't forget me," Hermione said quietly, smiling so she wouldn't cry.

Remus looked up at her, confusion painted across his delicate but scarred face. "Hermione," he said. "I could never forget you."

She shook her head. “I know you won’t do it intentionally,” she murmured. “I just don’t know how this war is going to end. And I don’t want you to forget what we had, because I know it was something real.”

Remus was watching her painfully, and he took a deep breath before he stepped forward, putting the box on the table beside them. His hands came up tenderly, hesitantly, as though he daren’t touch her in case she disappeared. One cupped her jaw, the other cradled the back of her head and he pulled her to him. Hermione’s arms came up to circle his waist, fingers framing his shoulder blades. They embraced like this was the last time they would ever get to hold one another.

“I love you,” Hermione told him.

Remus just squeezed her closer to his body.

**oOo**

The six of them sat in front of the fire. Harry had fallen asleep on Sirius, who had very reluctantly let Lily take her baby up to bed, only when she reminded him that Harry was, in fact, _her_ baby. Sirius had huffed and replied righteously, “Lily, this baby is all of ours and you know it.” She hadn’t argued because he was right, she did know it, but he had kissed Harry’s head and handed him over regardless. Now, they all held unfinished hot chocolates and leaned against cushions, feeling the warmth of the fire spread over them and wrap them in a safety nothing, not even Voldemort, could shatter. Hermione forgot about the cold outside, feeling the warmth in her bones and knowing that it wasn’t just the fire making her tingle.

Peter said suddenly, “It’s so weird…”

James, sitting with Lily tucked into his side and a blanket wrapped around the both of them, frowned and asked, “What is, Pete?”

“The fact that nine years ago, we were just scared kids who’d just started Hogwarts,” he said. No one bothered to mention that Hermione hadn’t known them for that long. It didn’t really matter. It felt like she’d been there forever. “And now, look at us.”

“Weird how we’re still scared,” Sirius said lightly, the heaviness of his words missing in his voice. “Just older.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pete said, tugging his blanket more firmly around his shoulders. “But I mean-” he looked to be struggling to find the right words, so instead he turned to Sirius and said, “Remember how in our first year, in our flying lesson, you charmed all the broomsticks to do the exact opposite of what everyone told them to do? And Snape’s broom shot up and hit him so hard in the face that it knocked him out and he had to go to the Hospital Wing?”

Sirius laughed loudly, the memory clearly bringing him the same amount of amusement as it had done nine years ago. He grinned, “He missed his first two days of lessons because of that.”

Peter nodded eagerly. He then looked at Remus and said, “And remember when it was close to the full moon, before we knew about you being a werewolf, and Malfoy brought up Sirius’ family and you broke his nose and four other bones with your own hands?”

Remus blushed. Sirius looked at him in surprise.

“That was you?”

Remus grinned sheepishly, shrugging, “He deserved it.”

Sirius continued to stare at him. He longed for nothing more than to reach out and hold him, or be held by him; to just melt into his body as though he could live there. Remus must have felt the same way, for his hand twitched and he stretched out his arm behind his blanket, carefully and subtly, till they were a whisper away from touching. His fingers tickled the tips of Sirius’ own and it wasn’t much, but it somehow made him feel content.

“Hey, and remember when Pete referred to Moony’s escapades as his ‘time of the month’ and when he heard Marlene talking about it, he followed her around for a _week_ before he finally had the guts to ask if she was a werewolf too?” James said, practically wheezing with laughter. Hermione’s hand shot to her mouth, eyes wide.

Lily gasped, “You didn’t!”

Peter grimaced sadly. “She punched me so hard…”

Remus managed to contain his laughter just long enough to say, “And when we found that new secret passageway that led us right into McGonagall’s office! We tumbled straight out of her picture frame and onto her Persian rug!”

“Oh yeah!” Peter exclaimed. “And Sirius tried flirting his way out of trouble!”

James gave his best impression of Sirius, “ _’So, Minnie… Know any secret passageways for me?’”_

The five of them burst out laughing again, with the exception of Sirius, who scowled at them all and said, “Hey! If it wasn’t for me sweet-talking her, you bastards would never have found out about the passage behind old Greg the Smarmy!”

“Remember when Hermione fell from the Gryffindor ceiling?” Remus said quietly, and the tone changed drastically. Hermione swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“And remember when Lily kissed James in front of the entire school when she finally realised the tosser was in love with her?” Sirius said gently, grinning.

Hermione said, speaking for the first time even though she didn’t trust her voice, “And when we laid on the Quidditch Pitch in the middle of the night after Mary read our palms and we’d started play-fighting?”

They all soaked up the memory, cherishing the way it made their hearts beat a little bit faster.

“Remember how happy we used to be?”

Sirius’ laugh was breathy. “Yeah, we were pretty lame.”

They might’ve been lame, but Hermione knew by the fondness in his voice and the small smiles that played at all of their lips, that they wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always thought of Remus as bisexual (since he CLEARLY harboured feelings for both Sirius and Tonks), but I wanted to play about with Sirius’ sexuality. Somehow, I doubt he’d be gay, or even bi, as I imagine him to be very open with who he loves. Therefore, I’m going to go with pansexual (not limited in sexual choice with regard to biological sex, gender, or gender identity). This basically means he can fall in love/be sexually attracted to anyone. Please correct me if I’m wrong, I was only introduced to all the different sexualities on tumblr very recently (personally, I think it’s shocking there’s no formal education on it but hey, what do I know!)  so my information may be wrong and I apologise beforehand for that.
> 
> Also SLYTHERIN CARADOC! It was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw (and Gryffindor at first, but I ruled that out pretty quickly as he’s not rash at all). In the end, I took the Pottermore sorting hat quiz and answered how I imagine Caradoc would answer and the result was Slytherin! It makes sense- ambitious, intelligent, manipulative, leader, cunning, unafraid to do what needs to be done.
> 
> This is such a fluffy chapter, I love it. You’ll see why soon enough. For the meantime though, I hope you enjoyed this one:) hope you’re all okay! Toodles!


	83. Chapter 83- The Prophecy

** Chapter 83- The Prophecy  **

**January 1981**

 

Remus left on New Year’s Day. Although the Order held a party, Remus wasn’t there to attend it, as he left early in the morning so as to avoid any tearful goodbyes. Sirius wasn’t quite as loud and boisterous as he usually would be, especially considering the nature of the event, so Hermione made sure to hold his hand, stroking her thumb across his knuckles every time he seemed to zone out.

January was fairly ordinary. Hermione wondered whether things were finally starting to cool down; there were no attacks instigated by the Death Eaters and the silence unnerved the Order so much that Benjy suggested orchestrating their own attacks, just to see if Voldemort would retaliate. This idea was met with mixed emotions, but Caradoc dismissed it immediately, saying there was no need for them to ‘ _tickle a sleeping dragon’_. Nobody had mentioned it again.

The world did seem to lull itself into a false sense of security in those four weeks. The Ministry started trying to rebuild itself, for its major branches had suffered great losses. People started actually leaving their houses, and heading down the path that led to resuming their old lives.

And yet, though Hermione desperately wished it was over, she knew that it couldn’t be. There was too much unfinished business, too much opportunity, for Voldemort to go quiet now. That, and his presence in her mind became unnaturally still. At night, she still dreamt of the darkness, even when she wasn’t thinking of it. She often dreamt of Harry and Ron, but she was careful to leave out the context of their escapades together- she dreamt of little things, ones that Voldemort would never be able to pin down as suspicious or out of place. She dreamt of dancing with Ron at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, laughing when he twirled her round and round till she got so dizzy the world refused to remain steady; of flying on Buckbeak, clinging onto Harry because her life depended on it, feeling the rush of the wind lace through her hair; of loving them and being loved by them and what a privilege it was. Somehow, it kept her going, gave her reason to wake up in the morning. Often, she could see the darkness lingering in the corners of the memory, watching. She paid it no mind. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Hermione just let him watch.

It was one morning in January, when the snow had blocked them all in Godric’s Hollow, that they allowed themselves to relax in this calm period. James was playing with Harry. Lily was upstairs in the bath. Hermione and Sirius were sprawled on one settee, as close as they could get to one another to keep them both warm; her feet were tucked under his thighs, and his arm was curled around her back. Peter had told them he would join them later, having opted to sleep in for once. They couldn’t blame him- he finally had the security to do so.

 _“My little boy,”_ James sung, dancing around the room with Harry. The baby squealed, his laughter ringing. Sirius grinned, eyes following them. Hermione couldn’t mask her loving wonder.

James stopped suddenly, twisting Harry around to face them. He muttered something under his breath and Harry’s bib transformed into a red cape, flowing to past his kicking feet and moving around to the back of his neck. Hermione laughed, tipping her head back.

“Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It’s Harry James Potter!” James announced, and he took off around the room again, making flying noises and taking him into nose-tail dives and loops.

Sirius said teasingly, “Better watch out, Prongs. Keep this up and he’ll be a better Quidditch player than you!”

“Oh, I’m planning on it,” replied James, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. Harry blew a raspberry, bending his knees to try and take off again. “I don’t want him following in my footsteps. You’re gonna be a champ, aren’t you son? Gonna play for Puddlemere United and be the best seeker that team has ever seen!”

Sirius wailed, throwing his head onto Hermione’s and his hair tickled her nose. She huffed a laugh at his theatrics. “Don’t condemn him to _that!_ _Have mercy!”_

“Oh, fuck off,” James grumbled. Then gasped when he realised he’d cursed in the presence of his son, where he promptly held Harry tight to his chest, covering his head with one of his hands as though this gesture could erase his memory of the word.

Once he felt safe enough to remove his hand, James said, “As long as he doesn’t have to fight, I’ll be happy. You’re destined for greatness, Harry! You’ve got the entire world.”

Hermione felt her smile falter as she watched James press a kiss to his son’s head, and the way the baby giggled, but she tried not to let it fall.

“You know, this quietness has got me thinking,” said Sirius suddenly.

“That’s dangerous,” Hermione commented, and he flicked her nose.

“You sound like Remus,” he told her distastefully, though there was an affection that made Hermione think he was somewhat glad for it.

James collapsed on the other settee, sitting Harry on one knee. He said, “I thought I smelt burning. What’s gotten your cogs turning then, Padfoot?”

Hermione grinned at him and he winked, but if Sirius registered the insult, he ignored it; his face screwed up slightly in thought.

“People always want to see the world in black and white but the grey…” said Sirius, “nobody ever knows what to do with that fucker.”

“ _Language!”_ James chastised, bringing Harry’s tiny hands up to cover his ears. The baby giggled loudly. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“He’s barely a toddler, Prongs. He can’t even talk!”

James looked at his son, retracting his hands and waving his chubby arms about, much to Harry’s delight. “Still,” he murmured. “I want his first word to be ‘daddy.’ Not the F word-”

Amused, Hermione repeated, “The F word?”

He shrugged, blushing. Fatherhood was odd on him, she thought. Odd, but somehow flattering.

“And does Lily know about this?” She continued, raising her eyebrows. James’ eyes widened, and they flitted to her carefully.

“No,” he said. “Please don’t tell her.”

As if her ears were burning, Lily walked into the room, towel-drying her wet hair, eyes narrowing immediately. “Don’t tell me what?”

James’ eyebrows shot up his forehead and he was quick to say, “Nothing, dear,” pressing a kiss to her cheek when she sat down next to him. She scowled at him regardless, but settled into his side, reaching out to stroke Harry’s little tuft of hair back into place.

“I can’t believe he had to get your hair,” she grumbled, flattening it for a second time. James looked at her, offended, but the emotion was fleeting for his face softened and he grinned cheekily. Lily looked back at him.

“But he has his mother’s eyes, Lil,” Hermione said gently. Lily looked at her, smile tilting her lips.

She said jokingly, “And good thing too, otherwise you’d never know he was my son!”

“Of course he’s your son!” said James incredulously, shaking Harry slightly for emphasis. The baby squealed. Lily shot her husband a look and he stopped. “He’s not even six months yet and, not only does he make _everyone_ smile, the first bit of magic he did was a cleaning spell!”

Lily blushed at his words, hitting his arm, but the smile stealing across her pretty face was telling. Hermione watched their love, and wished it was enough to keep them alive.

She turned to Sirius and said, “What grey?”

He raised his eyebrows and hummed questioningly.

“The grey,” repeated Hermione. “Between the black and white. What did you mean?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes, and his arm tightened around her. Sirius said in a carefully delicate voice, “I mean, ever since we knew there was going to be a war, we were taught, inconspicuously mind you, that the world was either black or white, good or evil. We were taught there was no in between. We were taught- well, _you_ were taught, that you were good. Have you ever questioned it?”

Hermione stared at him, lips slightly parted as though to answer, but Lily beat her to it.

“We’ve never had to,” she said.

James frowned, looking between all three of them, idly bouncing Harry on his knee. “Of course we haven’t. We’re the ones fighting for others-”

“And ourselves,” Hermione reminded him, glancing his way.

He looked incredulous. “That doesn’t make our motives selfish! We’re fighting for everyone- why is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Lily explained. “Sirius is just saying that we’re not as straightforwardly good as what, say, Dumbledore made us out to be. We’ve been taught this way because it suits him.”

“Dumbledore’s better than that,” James assured. Then he looked at Hermione. “Isn’t he?”

“He was friends with Grindelwald,” said Lily quietly. “I’ve read about him doing terrible things.”

"He's not a bad man," Hermione said. The image of him smiling down at her, eyes twinkling with reassurance that it was going to be okay, everything was going to be okay; his mangled body at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower flashed before her eyes. "He's a good man who makes bad choices. That doesn't make him bad, just human."

And she wondered whether that was why she held such contempt for Dumbledore. She always had such high expectations of him, she always expected him to do the right thing, the best thing, for everyone involved. But she never gave him the opportunity to make mistakes. In war, you couldn't make mistakes. They had all put Dumbledore on a pedestal, removed the impression that he was allowed to make mistakes, but he was human. It's what humans do.

“That’s the grey,” Sirius said simply.

James shook his head, the frown deepening. “We’re fighting against a man who wants to destroy people who don’t fit into his little ideology. How is that possibly grey?”

“Because we’ve done some pretty bad things too,” said Lily.

“We don’t _kill_!”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not destroying lives,” Hermione countered quietly.

James looked at them all and said slowly, “Don’t tell me now that you’re all developing consciences.”

“This is exactly what Sirius meant,” said Hermione rationally, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her legs. “As soon as we start questioning the boundaries, and what counts as black and white, we lose focus.”

James fell quiet at that, returning his eyes to his son, who had been reaching for his nose. Sirius looked sidelong at her.

“Your Death Eater is another example,” he said carelessly. “He’s neither evil nor good.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “ _Avery_ is good.”

But she remembered the shadow that passed across his face when he vowed to Obliviate that prisoner, and the streak of green light when he murdered the Muggle woman at Malfoy Manor.

 _He didn’t have a choice_ , a voice in her mind argued.

But wasn’t that the grey Sirius was talking about?

Hermione stared at him, thinking vaguely of the irony that Sirius was obsessed with the grey, as he was a walking-talking contradiction of everything they were taught. He was born from a dark family, a Black family (quite literally), and yet he’d come out of it as a beacon of light. Against all odds, all influences and temptations, Sirius Black was good.

“It’s not over,” Lily said suddenly. Hermione dragged her eyes away from the man sitting next to her, who had been uncharacteristically oblivious of her staring at him. “I think, at least.”

Hermione swallowed, fixing her attention on Harry instead and biting her lip to make sure she didn’t say anything she wasn’t supposed to. James was watching her though, and she knew that he was thinking the same thing she was.

“Is it?” He asked.

“What?” she said, faux-dubiously.

“Is it over?” James kept his hazel eyes steady on her. “You should know, after all.”

Hermione swallowed. The trust he regarded her with broke her heart. She wondered whether he even remembered that he was supposed to die. From the way Sirius reached for her hand, she guessed _he_ did.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “In the original timeline, the war doesn’t end until later this year.”

“So it’s nearly over?” Lily asked, and the relief and excitement made her voice breathless. The hope lit up her face.

Hermione felt her throat go dry again and she looked down, dropping her head in a nod. “But it comes at a _terrible_ price.”

Lily looked at her, then at James. “But if it’s the end? I mean, it can’t be too terrible a price for us to just- just refuse it!”

James was watching Hermione and the look on his face confirmed her worries. Of course he remembered. He was the epitome of fading hope, of slackened jaws and troubled eyes, and she saw the way his heart dropped, and eyes flicked to Lily. _Of course_ , she thought. Even facing death, his priority was Lily.

“James,” Lily murmured, and her fingers curled around his shoulder; soft, loving. “What’s going on? What- what happens?”

She then looked at Hermione, frown so genuinely confused and upset, that Hermione felt her breath come out raggedly. Lily sucked in the air sharply, beautiful eyes widening in realisation.

 _“Oh my god,”_ she whispered, and she closed her eyes, causing a stray tear to drip down her pale cheek. Hermione squeezed Sirius’ hand harder.

“I’m not going to let that happen though,” she promised. “I refuse to.”

“We’re so close to the end now,” Sirius said assuredly. “We’ve nearly made it. What’s a few more months?”

Nobody replied to him. Lily was staring at Hermione, trying to quench the fear thrumming in her body. She could barely breathe, but Hermione’s vow made it possible for her to calm down. She believed her, she believed _in_ her. If anyone could save the world, it was Hermione. If anyone could save _them_ , it was her.

James cradled Harry close to his chest, cupping the back of his head, and Lily rested her cheek on his shoulder. Hermione wished she could guarantee their safety. Watching them, she realised that there was no one who deserved to live more.

“I never thought we’d make it out of this, you know,” Sirius said. Before anyone could point out that they hadn’t yet, he carried on, almost as if he knew they’d protest, “I’d made peace with the fact that I was going to die.”

“You _wanted_ to die,” Hermione corrected quietly. He didn’t confirm nor deny it, merely tightened his hold on her. James closed his eyes briefly.

Sirius said after a while, “I wanted to die _heroically_.”

James looked at him, and said, “What’s the difference? I thought you didn’t care if you lived or died?”

Sirius, pale and suddenly small, said quietly, “I don’t. But I want to die _big_. I don’t want to be killed doing something stupid and insignificant. It’s a waste of a death.”

James just stared at him, before he turned away.

“You might just get your chance,” Hermione said, levelling her eyes on him. Sirius stared back at her, resolutely and unwaveringly, but in silence. She wished there was less honestly to her words than what there was.

**oOoOoOo**

**February 1981**

The day Dumbledore called Lily and James to Hogwarts was the same day Hermione realised how _wrong_ they had all been about the silence. James had informed them all immediately, and that was how the five of them plus Harry found themselves in Dumbledore’s office. James and Lily sat close together on the chairs in front of his desk, their hands tightly locked between them. Lily had Harry cuddled to her chest, and the baby was sleeping soundly, nuzzling into her and blowing out little clouds over her shoulder that disappeared into thin air. Hermione stood next to Peter. Sirius was leaning against a pillar, legs crossed, arms folded, looking far more calm than he felt. Hermione saw the tell-tale tension crinkling his eyes and tightening his mouth. She didn’t comment on it.

“I’m glad you could come at such short notice,” Dumbledore greeted, sitting down and folding his hands on the desk in front of him. Hermione’s breath came out as a long and ragged sigh through her nose. There was only one thing he could possibly have to tell them.

James swallowed and said, “What’s this about, Professor?”

He was pale and there were large bags under his eyes, only partially obscured by his square glasses. He looked ill, or tired, or maybe scared. Hermione focused on the magic Harry was exhaling.

“At the end of last year,” Dumbledore began gravely, “I was in need of a Divination teacher for the school. I interviewed all the applicants at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade… And one of them happened to be a Seer, with a great ancestry. A Seer who made a Prophecy in my presence.”

“Professor,” Sirius said flippantly. They all looked at him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what does this have to do with us?”

Dumbledore levelled his gaze on him, but Sirius didn’t shrink away, merely raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore sighed. “Perhaps, it would be easier to show you.”

“What’s he doing?” Peter whispered, but Hermione didn’t answer him.

They watched as Dumbledore lifted the tip of his wand to his temple, closing his eyes and withdrawing a long and wispy trail of memory. It fell from his head, writhing in the air, looking like white smoke. He twirled his wand slightly, and the memory started playing.

Having never been in a bedroom at the inn, Hermione didn’t recognise the small room. She did, however, recognise Dumbledore and the woman sitting on a chair opposite him. Professor Trelawney looked younger than Hermione remembered, but her hair was still a frizzled brown, and her green eyes were magnified behind large black-rimmed glasses, making her look like some sort of giant insect. She was frozen, eyes wide and clouded over, and the memory-Dumbledore appeared calm as he watched her, though the twinkle in his eyes was absent.

Professor Trelawney wheezed, fingers clutching the seat of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. There was silence for a moment longer, and then she inhaled a shuddering breath that sounded more like an inverse scream. Hermione felt the hair stand up on her arms. Beside her, Peter looked mutely horrified, as though he were trying to hide the affect it was having on him. She moved closer, if only to touch his arm with hers, to remind him that she was there. He jerked.

“ _Sybill_?” Memory-Dumbledore questioned carefully, moving to get to his feet, but Professor Trelawney groaned again, a guttural sound that came from deep within her, and he stopped.

Her voice was low and croaked, almost as though it was someone else speaking through her. Hermione felt the chill at her words:

_“’The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies-’”_

The memory dissipated. The office was plunged into silence. It was so deathly quiet that they could all hear the erratic thumping of their hearts.

Lily whispered, “I don’t understand. What does that mean? What has that got to do with us? Please. Professor…?”

But the way she cradled Harry closer, leaning her cheek into him, made Hermione think she already knew.

Dumbledore said solemnly, “Miss Evans, I do believe that Sybill Trelawney made reference to one of two children in her Prophecy. And I believe that one of those two children is your son. Harry.”

James closed his eyes, his breath slipping through his closed lips. This was not what he meant when he said his son was destined for greatness.

“You’re saying my son, my _baby_ , is supposed to defeat Voldemort?” Lily said slowly, quietly so that the trembling of her voice wouldn’t be so obvious.

Hermione felt the hot prick of tears. She couldn’t prevent them from falling and she didn’t bother. She couldn’t quench the feeling that _this was it_. She was watching Harry’s death.

Dumbledore said, “Not necessarily. Harry is one of two choices the Prophecy may refer to-”

“Who’s the other?” James choked out. Dumbledore regarded him for a moment.

“Frank and Alice’s son.”

Lily couldn’t bite back the sob and it left her lips unwillingly. “So that means that one of us has to lose a child? How can we possibly accept that?”

“The Prophecy only says that the boy in question will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord-”

 _“And what chance does my son have?”_ Lily demanded, voice harsh and loud. She did not care for its tremble anymore. Her anger was far more pronounced. “Against the darkest wizard the world has ever seen?”

“He may have more chance than you believe, Miss Evans,” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Says _who!?”_ Her beautiful emerald eyes, glassy with tears and drowning in anguish, flashed. “Forgive me, Professor, if I don’t take your word seriously but my baby has just been condemned to death.”

Hermione decided to speak up at that point, and it was only then that she realised Peter had slipped his hand into hers and was squeezing tightly. She said, “He had a big chance. In fact, he defied Voldemort four times before he even turned of age.”

“But he didn’t make it,” Sirius said. His voice was a shock, as he had stayed silent until then. She didn’t look at him, opting to keep her eyes on Lily’s, but she could feel him staring at her. His words held a tremor that she wished he’d try to control. “When you first came here, you thought he was James and you were so shocked to see him alive. When you told us who you were, you said he was the bravest man you knew, and that it was a mistake, because you were alive and he was dead.”

Hermione cried silently.

“Did he even stand a chance?” Sirius asked desperately, and he sounded torn up too, although she didn’t look at him to check.

 _“Yes!”_ Hermione couldn’t lie to them, even though it would probably hurt more to know that he had been so close to victory. “Of course he did.”

She turned to Lily and James, eyes wet but earnest. She wanted them to know that she meant every word when she said, “He was _so_ brave. _So_ strong. You’d have been so proud of him.”

Lily was openly crying now. So was James. She was holding her sleeping, blissfully unaware baby closer to her chest, lulling him with her decadent heartbeat. James reached a hand up to cup his son’s small head, wondering idly how something so small and dainty could ever stand a chance in the world.

Dumbledore said calmly, “I think the best course of action is to use the Fidelius Charm, and to keep you safe within a location to which only one Secret Keeper can divulge. I offer to be the Secret Keeper myself. Your lives will be safe with me.”

“You mean to lock us away?” James translated slowly, sobering at the idea. He shook his head. “Not whilst there’s still a war going on. Not whilst we are needed to win.”

“No,” Lily said, looking at Dumbledore and ignoring James’ argument. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I trust my friends with Harry’s life.”

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment before he said, “I have given you a lot of information today. Go home, sleep. I’m sure we can come to an agreement within the week.”

Lily nodded. James still looked too outraged and devastated to respond, but he jolted into action when Lily tightened her grip on his hand and murmured, “Please can we go home?”

He looked at her, ragged and utterly lost, and nodded jerkily. Without another word, the young couple rose to their feet and left the room.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Peter stepped away from Hermione, detangling his hand from hers and muttered, “I’m going as well. I-” but he didn’t bother finishing his sentence, either because the words jammed or he simply had no words to say, she didn’t know. He walked out too.

That left Sirius, Hermione and Dumbledore. She looked at Sirius and saw he looked to be smudged, as though someone had wiped at his existence with their finger and now he was a blemish, something not quite there and not quite complete. Hermione remembered the first time he had found out-

_“You’re telling me that my best friend is dead in- he’s dead in four years? We can stop this. We can stop it. I'm not-" **letting you die.**_

Sirius must have felt her eyes on him for he focused on her. He offered her a small, tight smile. “I knew this would happen. You told us years ago.” He took in a deep breath. “But somehow, it didn’t make it any easier.”

“I know,” she whispered. Sirius waited a moment, as if he was trying to control his jangled feelings just long enough to make it home, before he set off towards the door.

He paused to hold his hand out for her, but she shook her head.

“I’ll be right out,” she promised quietly. He nodded and then he was gone. When she was alone in the room, she turned to look at Dumbledore.

“I’m going to change this,” Hermione promised him with an air of finality. “I’m going to save him, and Lily and James.”

But she saw the way his eyes lingered on her as she started moving, following her to the door. They didn’t twinkle once. She turned around and said slowly, “What?”

Dumbledore’s eyes were steady on her. He looked as pleasant as ever, but where his geniality would have once calmed her, it now made her feel sick. “A storm is brewing, Miss Granger. That is inevitable. We simply need to be ready for when it hits us.”

Hermione nodded numbly and then she said, “Except your definition of ‘ready’ is sitting back and doing nothing and letting the storm ravage us.” His lips tightened. She inhaled deeply. “With all due respect, sir, the storm has already hit us. We _were_ ready. We still are.”

“Do you really think that, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked her carefully. When she didn’t reply, he said in a delicately controlled voice, “Whatever happens must happen. You understand that, don’t you?”

“You haven’t seen the future!” Hermione stressed, and the fury bubbled up inside of her, so loudly and vehemently that she could barely contain it. Her eyes were wide with incredulity. Dumbledore hesitated for a moment.

“No,” he said prudently. His blue eyes were cold and she felt betrayed by them, by their insipid and false geniality. “But I intend to.”

Hermione faltered. Then, she said, "What are you implying, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyes never wavered. "You've had long enough, Miss Granger. Time is a dangerous thing to meddle with, and I've been watching closely... The past has not been changed. The future has not once trembled. Time does not exist- we created it, or the idea of it, and if I let you continue, you will be the end of it."

“There will be no future to see if you don’t let me change it,” she pleaded. _“You don’t understand-!”_

“No,” Dumbledore said coldly. “ _You_ do not understand. Certain things still need to happen, Miss Granger. We need to preserve the timeline as best we can whilst... Tweaking it, here and there."

"Tweaking it," Hermione repeated. Her voice was shaking and a fervent anger swirled inside of her. She wanted to scream at him, but she tried to stay calm. "Is that what you call it? So you're happy to let innocent people- _good people!_ -die?"

Dumbledore looked grave, and he sounded heavy when he said, "There are always repercussions to war."

" _Repercussions?"_ Hermione questioned. She was bordering on hysterical now, and her eyes were filling with hot tears. "Lily and James' deaths are not repercussions if they can be avoided!"

He stared at her for a very long time. "No, but they are sacrifices that we are willing to make."

"You mean that _you're_ willing to make," Hermione said coldly. "Because after all, this is for the Greater Good, isn't it sir?"

The shock on his face was palpable in the air between them and she couldn't stand to even look at him. Without another word, she left the room.

**oOoOoOo**

That night, when they got back to Godric’s Hollow, James pulled Lily into him immediately. The embrace was soft but hard, as Harry was held between them. He could feel her pulse in his arms and he counted the times her heart beat on the tips of his fingers, trying to ignore the way she shook silently, trying to forget the fact that her heart was on a timer and that she didn’t have forever- she had a few months. He thought this silence was worse than if she sobbed, or screamed. This anguish was so agonising, it scorched their insides. James wished he could scream.

And much later on, he did. He screamed so loud and for so long that he only stopped when he was sure his throat was bleeding from the strain. Lily had rushed into the bathroom, and he had collapsed in her arms, clutching onto her so tightly that he left fingerprints. She didn’t mind. She knew it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world, to _her_.

To their Harry.


	84. Chapter 84- The Alpha

** Chapter 84- The Alpha **

 

As much as Remus wanted to hate it, he found that there was a part of him that just- _couldn’t_.

The den Dumbledore had assigned him to was underground, built into the hillside and stationed in the middle of a forest; it was almost like a rabbit warren of dirty tunnels, tall enough for a man to walk upright in and wide enough for a wolf to bound in. Within the warren, there were little pods, almost, that were used for sleeping in, and above it was a ground section where the cubs could play (but not wander too far) and the domestic jobs could be completed. There was a running river a few metres away, to wash themselves and their belongings, and overall, Remus had to admit that the setup was rather pleasant.

That was, until he met Greyback.

Greyback was a big, hulking mass of a man, with feral, yellow eyes that seemed to gleam devilishly. He towered above everyone else and when Remus first set eyes upon him, the wolf in him cowered. He could not quench the memories of the night he’d been bitten, of the agony as the infection coursed through his blood, of his mother’s tears and his father’s stricken face. He averted his eyes fairly quickly, not liking the way in which Greyback’s tongue traced his canines, nor the way that his muscle memory remembered those same canines digging into his flesh and biting down _hard_. There was also the fact that the wolf recognised his Alpha. And knew to look away, lest he want trouble.

It never became any easier to see Greyback. Every time Remus stumbled upon him, the swirl of unease would start up again, and he’d immediately turn in the opposite direction. This feeling was not shared with the rest of the pack who, Remus realised, looked up to their Alpha. He supposed it wasn’t as odd as what he initially thought it- after all, these people had been turned by him and indoctrinated since they were children. It was part of the reason Remus was here.

He hadn’t learnt much since first stationing himself there, but he had come to the abrupt and almost sickening realisation that this pack were loyal to Greyback. If Dumbledore thought he could sway their allegiances, Remus knew he had another thing coming.

Despite knowing that this mission was now void, and there was no real impact he could have by staying there, Remus found himself reluctant to go back home.

_“Remus!”_

He spun round, ears pricking, eyebrows raised. One of the cubs, a small boy called Tommy with skinny limbs and ribs on show, barely a metre tall, was waving him over. His lips were curled in an impish grin and he bended his knees slightly. In wolf form, his tail would be wagging.

Remus smirked. He bowed low, refraining from laughing when Tommy bounced away, screaming. The other children had formed a small anticipating group just behind him and they too, burst into action when Remus started running after them. It was nice, he couldn’t help but think, running through the camp, swinging around trees and dodging the other wolves. A few laughed at their antics, others shook their heads. Remus couldn’t really bring himself to care.

It was an innocent game, chasing them until his arm curled around their waists and he could gently roll them onto their backs. They always writhed and wriggled, trying to break free, and Remus would sit on his haunches, one hand easily pinning them down until they tired or grinned up at him in defeat.

He managed to get most of them quickly as they'd just eaten and their speed was lacking, and Remus' eyes found Tommy, who had stopped just ahead to goad him. His lips curled into an amused smile at the boy's gall.

Remus started running, and it was like every worry that had ever lodged itself in his head dissipated; as if they were all picked up by the wind that laced through his hair and tore at his clothes and carried far away from him. Perhaps he should have felt guilty, enjoying this the way he did. But he didn’t. Remus just felt free.

That was probably the reason why he only noticed when it was too late as Tommy ran straight into the legs of one of the older wolves. Remus faltered, euphoria dripping off of him, as though it had melted to water. He felt the trepidation build in his bones.

The older wolf turned around slowly. When he caught sight of the cub, he bared his teeth. Tommy let out a low whine, stepping back, cowering in surrender.

“You know,” the man drawled, eyes lighting up, and Remus could see the monster within. “In some packs, they _eat_ the runt.”

Remus was quick to react, pushing Tommy behind him and snarling. He was taller than the man, but not nearly as wide, nor vicious. The two other wolves the man was standing with flanked his side, their lips curled back as they growled. Remus didn’t back down.

The man, Alf, merely smirked. “Are you going to stop me, pup?”

The nickname was one Remus had unfortunately adopted due to being the new wolf in town and it irked him beyond belief. Besides the cubs, he was one of the youngest, and his presence was equally detested and welcomed in the pack.

Alf straightened his shoulders, refusing to retreat. Remus felt his Gryffindor courage waver when he noticed the gleam in the other wolf's eyes, and the fangs cutting into his lip.

"If I rip his flesh open with my teeth?" Alf continued, goading, crude. "Will you attack me, pup? Go on. _Do it._ Show me your pretty baby teeth-”

Remus leapt at him, hands going straight for the other man’s throat. Alf, although his antagonising had been intentional, didn’t seem to expect such a sudden and violent response, and he stuttered a bit before retaliating. His claws came up to slash at Remus’ eyes. Although he saw the attack coming before it made contact, and he managed to duck to avoid the brunt of it, Remus still hissed at the deep scratch gorged in his cheek. He shifted his body weight, thankful for his vantage on top and for his height, as it meant he could pin Alf’s entire body down with his own very easily. Remus didn’t hold him for long, however, as Tommy yelled his name, ragged and torn and he looked up to see Alf’s friends holding him back as he kicked and clawed them.

Remus faltered.

Alf noticed, and he bucked up, throwing him off of him and onto the floor, where he climbed onto his body, reversing their prior positions. He wrapped his leathery hands around Remus’ neck, squeezing so tightly that Remus immediately reached up to try and alleviate the pressure.

Alf leaned down, bringing their faces closer together, and snarled, “I’ll kill you like the pathetic human you are.”

Remus’ eyes widened, but all they could see were black spots. His mouth gaped but the oxygen was wrenched from his lungs and throat with every squeeze. He vaguely wondered whether this could actually be the end and he thought, whilst unconventional, it wouldn’t be that bad of a way to go. He would die defending an innocent. Wasn’t that what he had dedicated his life to these past four years? And he had fought to the last second! That was a death worthy for even Sirius.

He felt the moment his mind made peace, for the worry simply trickled away, or maybe that was a side-effect of his brain not getting enough oxygen. Either way, it wandered away from the den and the werewolf constricting the life from his spluttering lips. Remus thought of Hermione, and he thought he should have given her a flower too so that she would never forget him. He thought of James and Lily, and Harry, and prayed that they would all be able to live the life they deserved. He thought of Peter and how unhappy he had been recently, without Mary, and hoped he would find something to make him that happy again. Remus thought of Sirius. He let his eyes flutter shut and traced the shadows of his aristocratic face; the ones made by his eyelashes and his cheekbones. He followed the bow of his lips and the curve of his jaw. He remembered how odd and yet, how _fitting_ it had been to wake up and realise that his friend was so much more than that. How he had been for years.

Remus’ breath wheezed through his cracked lips, and he felt his eyes begin to roll back into his head.

Greyback appeared suddenly, ripping Alf off of him and throwing him to the side as though he were little heavier than a rag doll. Remus continued to lie on the floor, feeling his chest heave and he gasped for the air. It was cold and relieving, and he gulped it down generously, ignoring the hot feeling of blood trickling down his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly, screwing them shut in pain, before he felt a tight hand on his arm, dragging him into onto his back. His eyes shot open.

Greyback was holding onto him, eyes as yellow and unpleasant as Remus remembered, but they were checking over his face and body. When he appeared satisfied with his perusal, he relinquished his grasp and Remus rolled back over. He turned to the crowd and growled.

“What are you all looking at, you spineless chickens?” His voice was less human than it was just pure animal. The pack bowed their heads in shame. Their tales would be between their legs if they had been in wolf form. “Rule of the pack- _never attack another wolf!”_

Greyback’s jaundiced eyes slanted to Alf, who was cowering by a tree. He asked snidely, “Or did you forget?”

“Please, Alpha,” Alf begged. Remus lifted his head blearily by the desperation in his voice.

“Murder can only be punished by murder, Alf,” Greyback said, and he looked dismayed but not necessarily upset to have to inform him. His eyes gleamed at the way the other wolf howled pitifully. “You know what that means. You know what I must do.”

Remus watched, eyebrows knitted together. A young woman had moved to his side, pressing a damp cloth to his head wound, but he paid her no attention. What was going on?

He realised it abruptly and pushed the woman aside, trying to drag himself closer. _“Stop!_ Please, no!”

 Greyback paused. He turned around leisurely. “No?”

“Don’t kill him,” Remus begged. He was clutching his stomach with one hand, not quite sure why it was aching so much, but he kept his eyes on Greyback’s. The Alpha in question tilted his head. He looked terrifying in that moment, and Remus questioned fleetingly what came over him to defy such a powerful monster.

But there was no turning back now.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” rasped Remus, his eyes wide and urging. One of his hands was stretched out. “ _Please!”_

Greyback barked out a laugh, fixing his attention back on Alf.

“It’s your lucky day,” Greyback said, voice low and dangerous. Alf winced away. “Did you hear what the pup said? He explained it was all just a _misunderstanding_. Is that what this is, Alf?”

Through his legs, Remus met Alf’s gaze. The other wolf nodded and said tightly, “Yes. Just a misunderstanding. Nothing more, Alpha.”

Greyback nodded and then, in a second, he was crouching in front of Alf, gripping his chin firmly. His claws pricked blood, causing it to spill onto his fingers. He snarled, “That pup may have saved your life but I am not finished with you.”

He rose just as swiftly, licking the blood from his fingers and turning away from the cowering man on the floor as though he were a simple inconvenience. Greyback moved over to Remus, lifting him easily over his shoulder. Remus tensed at first, wincing when Greyback’s shoulder dug into his sore ribs. As if sensing his pain, the Alpha shifted him until he was comfortable before heading into the warren through the cave in the hillside.

Remus tried to ignore the throbbing pain in almost every part of his body, as his organs pulsed to steal back the oxygen they had been denied of. He knew he should be more wary of Greyback, but the fight had drained him. He was not used to fighting werewolves. Despite being one himself, he always seemed to underestimate the strength of the wolf.

Once they’d reached what Remus assumed was Greyback’s pod (if the luxurious bearskin rug on the floor was anything to go by), Greyback carefully set him down on a slab of rock. Remus’ chest was still heaving, and although he could see clearly, the black spots were slow to disappear completely.

Greyback stood in front of him, and his clawed and grisly hand came up to cup the back of his head. He pulled Remus roughly to his chest, so that his forehead was pressing against the ragged leather of his waistcoat. Remus didn't protest, too tired to do so, and let Greyback hold him to his body. It wasn't the most affectionate of gestures, but it somehow calmed him. He could both feel and hear the steady beat of Greyback's heart and how it contrasted to his own racing one.

"You should know better than to start fights with Alf," Greyback said, his voice a growl. Remus' breath came out loud and laborious but he chose not to reply, clutching onto the material of Greyback's pants tighter. "What did he do?"

Remus twisted his head to the side and spat out some blood that had been clogging up his mouth. He said, voice straining to cover the pain, "He threatened to eat one of the cubs."

Greyback made a sound in his throat, which resembled a hum. His hand at the back of Remus' head scraped his nails lightly against his scalp. Remus drew in a shuddering breath and tried to calm the part of him that detested the way he leaned into Greyback.

“You care about the cubs a lot,” Greyback noted. Remus kept quiet. “Especially the runt. Tommy. Alf was right. In some packs, they do eat them.”

Remus felt himself tense up at the thought, and Greyback applied extra pressure with his nails, stopping when it bordered on painful. He said, “We are not _some_ packs. Even so, if Alf had eaten the small cub, _I_ would’ve dealt with it. Not you, pup.”

"I know," muttered Remus. The nails dug a little deeper into his scalp.

"You know, _what_ , pup?"

He clenched his teeth, stifling his pride, and said, "I know, _Alpha_."

Greyback relinquished his tight hold, loosening it so that he could move his hand up and down in an almost pleasant, stroking action that had Remus leaning into his touch, despite his better judgement.

“They reject you because you have not accepted the wolf ways,” Greyback told him.

Remus frowned. “But I _have_ accepted-”

The grip on his scalp became uncomfortable once more and he fell silent. Greyback praised his obedience by going back to caressing his head. He murmured, “No, you haven’t. You still retain more of your human qualities… like lying to your Alpha to avoid pack punishment.”

Remus knew that, although Greyback’s tone was light, he was unhappy with his interference. He had most likely only conceded to Remus’ wish because it would irk Alf _more_ to be in debt to him. He realised it suddenly, but Alf owed his life to him. Remus knew that wolves took these things far more seriously than humans.

Sensing that Greyback wanted an answer, he said, “I didn’t think it right you kill him over something so small.”

“ _He_ would have killed _you_ ,” Greyback pointed out. Remus swallowed, knowing that he was right.

“’An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,’” he recited quietly. Greyback’s hand stilled for a moment before he continued.

To Remus’ surprise, the Alpha huffed a grudgingly amused laugh. He said, “That is why the pack does not like you. You reek of Muggles and your influence is so subconsciously strong.”

“It’s true though,” said Remus quickly, and he dared to raise his eyes to meet Greyback’s. The other man was watching him, curiosity making his yellow eyes brighter. “If you go taking everyone’s eyes, there will be no able Muggles to make your wolves out of.”

The way Greyback regarded him in that moment made Remus both very uncertain and, though he would never admit it aloud, _proud_.

Since that day, Alf had not caused any more trouble. He was broken and bloody and Greyback had dealt with him, limping around the den unaided. Remus wasn’t sure whether the Alpha had vocally forbidden them to help him, or whether it was another of the pack rules. Either way, he was glad for the peace so he didn’t question it.

Another thing he dared not question was the request by Greyback (though, really, it was more of an order) that he move to the room next to his. Idly, Remus wondered whether this was so Greyback could keep an eye on him, but he couldn’t deny the Alpha so whatever the reason, it didn’t matter.

His conclusion that the mission was pointless had only begun to deepen and cement in his brain, until one moment, where a slip of Greyback’s tongue uprooted all the doubt that poisoned his mind.

Remus was sat in Greyback’s room, on the floor. Tommy was there as well, sitting between his legs and playing with some dried deer hooves Greyback had gifted him. It was odd; since the incident, life had improved greatly for the cub as well, seeing the Alpha take great concern and interest in his wellbeing. Remus could only guess at what his motives were; perhaps in hope to indoctrinate Remus deeper into the pack? He was grateful for it, though he didn’t say this. Tommy no longer cowered in fear amongst the other wolves, and his ribs were slowly disappearing beneath a thick layer of healthy fat. Whilst still the runt, if Greyback ever decided to eat him, Tommy would be able to put up a good fight.

Greyback had a few of the other wolves in there too, and he seemed largely unconcerned for Remus and Tommy’s presence, despite the obvious importance of the meeting. He zoned out for most of it, finding their werewolf talk sickening. It was only when a very _familiar_ name was thrown out, that he decided to pay attention.

“What does the Dark Lord want us for?” One of the older wolves was asking, almost suspiciously. Greyback narrowed his eyes at his distrust, but didn’t comment. Remus had to bite his lip to stop himself from inhaling sharply.

“He wants me to position an army of wolves at some- _orphanage_ ,” he replied, the drone of his voice suggesting this was not the exciting, action-packed mission he’d wished for.

His companions must have shared his opinion for their faces contorted.

“An orphanage?”

“What for?”

Greyback cracked his jaw and Remus winced at the sound. “There’s something important there. Real important. Dark Lord claimed his Death Eaters would draw suspicion. My pack can blend in.”

The two other wolves didn’t seem convinced.

“I’ll go there tomorrow, and see it for myself before I agree to anything,” rasped Greyback, uncaring of their uncertainty. “For all we know, it could be more dangerous than he let on. It wouldn’t surprise me. His views on Half-Bloods are not exactly secret. It could be a trap to eradicate us.”

“Tomorrow? But the full moon is coming up. You’ll be needed here to control those shifting for the first time,” the oldest wolf reasoned.

Greyback let out a surprisingly human sigh and said, “Fine. I’ll go tonight.”

Remus frowned, ears perking up, asking before he could stop himself, “Where are you going tonight?”

Greyback’s cold eyes darted to him and he leapt over, pushing Remus’ face to the ground. The dust billowed up into his nose and throat, but he tried to remain calm, keeping his eyes down as the Alpha growled.

“Careful, pup,” he warned. “Remember your place.”

When he let go of him, Remus inhaled deeply before he sat up. Nobody was really paying him any attention, making him think this hands-on approach must be how wolves train their pups, and so he fixed his eyes on Tommy. His mind was another matter.

He remembered the mission Hermione had informed him of. Voldemort had horcruxes- five of them. Objects of extreme importance that contain a part of his soul, making him immortal. Only when his entire soul was destroyed could he truly be killed. And yet, despite having already found four of the objects, one was missing. It was a stretch. Remus wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could be right, but what else did they have to go on?

There were only a few more weeks left until he could go back to Headquarters and voice his suspicions, but he still felt an indescribable excitement flare up. If he was right, if this really was the location of the final horcrux, then they could finally make a plan to destroy Voldemort himself.

And then they would’ve done it. Remus could see the victory like it was held out in front of him and he longed to reach for it, to cast off this disguise and go back home, to his old life-

The wolf inside of him growled its disapproval, writhing and fighting for control, so hard that Remus hissed in pain. Greyback shot him a questioning look.

“You alright there, pup?”

He nodded jerkily and Greyback turned back. As odd and obvious as the question seemed, Remus sat, numb as Tommy clapped the deer hooves on the floor and the sound echoed around the cavern, and wondered whether he’d be able to betray the pack after all and, if he was honest, a large part of himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> AN: So this prompt came from my dearest friend Barney. I love you very much, you mean the absolute world to me! THANK YOU FOR INJECTING ME WITH YOUR WISDOM JUICE- I HOPE THIS LIVES UP TO EXPECTATIONS!
> 
> As odd as this chapter may seem, I wanted it to show a side of Greyback and a side of pack-mentality that we perhaps don’t get to see upright. Of course, Greyback is a monster. He turns children and enjoys hurting people for the fun of it, BUT he’s still an Alpha of a pack, and werewolves are extremely territorial and protective of one another. This chapter shows how, despite Greyback being a monster, he cares for what is his.
> 
> I also feel like we needed a bit more Remus, as this mission has been a vague and unexplored distraction for his character. But I’ve based it off the idea that, despite the horrifying experience his friends all believe it is (because, and their judgement is unintentional: werewolves), a part of Remus actually belonged in the pack. With Greyback.
> 
> He is a werewolf, after all, and after denying the wolf part of him for so long, he’s naturally going to thrive here. I PROMISE AVERY WILL BE BACK NEXT CHAPTER!!! I’ve noticed a few of you are missing him ahaha!


	85. Chapter 85- The Fortress

** Chapter 85- The Fortress **

**May 1981**

 

James had taken to measuring Harry every day, to standing him up by the door panel of the kitchen and marking off each new millimetre with a pencil. He was always laughing when he did it, as he struggled to hold a wriggling baby in place, but the way Lily watched him, with soft eyes growing empty, and loving smile fading fast on her face, suggested that it was the only snatch of sanity in their house and she knew it.

Hermione visited when she could. She had dedicated her time now to finding the Cup, pinpointing possible locations of where it could’ve been hidden before Bellatrix’s vault. She wished she could see them both more, as it was clear they were going stir-crazy trapped in Godric’s Hollow, and whenever Lily questioned where she’d been and what she was doing, the answer always tasted foul on her tongue, so she avoided saying it.

_I’m trying to save your lives._

She was sat in the living room now, playing absently with Harry, who had grown quite considerably in the last few months. Hermione’s eyes watched the spring sun rise through the window, and she wished its light would be enough to save them all.

“You never visit anymore,” said Lily, but it wasn’t doleful or accusing. She simply stated it. It was a fact.

“It’s-” Hermione paused, grappling for a good enough word, when she just said lamely, “hard.”

“I know,” said Lily, sitting down next to her, and putting both their teas on the table. “But so is being stuck inside your own house.”

Hermione heaved a sigh, instantly feeling the guilt flood through her and she tried to take it back, “Lily-”

“It’s not as if I was free before this,” Lily said, ignoring her. “The pregnancy meant I was useless and now, I’m even more useless because I’m able to do things. I’m just not allowed.”

“It’s not useless if it’ll keep you alive,” said Hermione firmly.

Lily sighed, and the sound was tired and ragged from her lips. She muttered, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’s just hard to watch the home you always loved become a fortress.”

Hermione didn't know how to reply to that, so she lowered her eyes to Harry and tried to smile at him. It came out wobbly and weak, but he didn't care. He squealed, trying to reach up and take her happiness, however fabricated it was.

She forced herself to say, “Picking Sirius as Secret Keeper was a good choice.”

Lily nodded, not really paying attention. It had been at Hermione’s urging that they picked Sirius. He would rather die than betray his friends- not that they were going to let it come to that, but the thought was disturbingly comforting.

The breath that tumbled from Lily's lips was broken and tired. She looked behind her, then at Hermione.

“James is struggling,” she said quietly, so he wouldn’t hear her.

Hermione tried not to let her grimace show too much. She knew he would be; he liked to be in the thick of things. So did Lily, but that was different- she’d been gradually removed as a result of her pregnancy, James was cut off abruptly from the outside world, knowing he could make a difference but being denied the opportunity to do so whilst his friends fought valiantly. It was enough to make anyone miserable, but none more so than James. “I can imagine.”

“It’s killing him,” said Lily. “If Voldemort doesn’t, this lockdown certainly will.”

Hermione willed herself to look scandalised, to tell Lily not to joke about things like that, but she found she had no energy to do so. Besides, what else could the other woman do? Better to joke about it than worry about it, Hermione supposed.

“It doesn’t help that Sirius barely visits,” Lily told her.

“He’s, uh, busy,” Hermione supplied feebly, offering an excuse for him despite not really knowing why he didn’t come anymore.

“Oh, I know that. I just think James misses him. On some days, he sits and waits for him to come and when it becomes clear he isn’t coming, he goes back upstairs and locks himself in our room.”

"Is that where he is now?" asked Hermione.

Lily shrugged. "I have no idea where he is. It's funny. We're stuck in the same house yet I hardly see him."

Hermione stared at her while Lily sipped her tea. Now that she had the chance to look at her properly, she noticed that her eyes had become dull, had lost that shine that she always associated with her. Her perfect skin was pallid, and she looked much older. Lily had cut her hair short, to her shoulders, and it curled slightly, left to do as it pleased. When Hermione had first seen it, she’d been shocked, and asked what had brought this about. Lily just shrugged, saying she’d felt like a change. Hermione had a feeling it was more to do with the fact that she’d gotten sick of seeing the way her face aged each time she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She hugged Harry closer to her, wishing that Lily would _try_ to look alive. It made it much harder, attempting to save someone who was already dead.

“I hate it,” Lily said quietly. She was staring out the window. Hermione watched her and tried to mask the pity she felt, knowing her friend hated pity. “I hate living like this. I hate feeling like a prisoner in my own home. If I’m going to die, surely they should just put me out of my misery and let me get it over and done with.” Her voice broke, and her green eyes were fractured when they finally looked at her. She said raggedly, tiredly, “I’m sick of waiting, like an animal to be slaughtered. I hate it, Hermione. _I hate it.”_

**oOoOoOo**

Hermione hadn't seen Avery in months.

There was no reason behind it. Just like with James and Lily, Hermione had been too busy trying to work out where the cup was in a bid to end this thing before anyone else died. Avery hadn’t seemed too bothered by her absence, for her wand hadn’t grown hot before now. The first thing Hermione felt was panic, blind and hot inside of her. They hadn’t spoken for months, and so this reaction was a suitable one. She knew what he was like; he was probably in trouble, or injured or _dying_ -

She’d apparated without hesitation, letting the spell direct her to where he was. Once her feet made impact with the ground, Hermione’s eyes had darted everywhere, trying to locate him and make sure he was alright.

He was. She wanted to hit him when she finally saw him, and the worry that had flooded though her dissipated slowly. Avery was fine, standing in the middle of a meadow under a lone tree, looking entirely out of place, like a withered plant among a bright and beautiful garden of flowers. She faltered slightly, feeling a surge of longing shoot through her- she hadn’t realised just how much she had missed him, dreariness and all.

Hermione made her way over to him, and he pushed himself off the tree to meet her halfway. He was holding a small black box. Her attention snagged on it and she tried to summon the exasperation to cover how touched she truly was by the gesture. When she got close enough to him, she wiggled her wrist a little, the bracelet jangling, and said, “I still haven’t paid you back for _this_ present!”

Avery frowned slightly. “It’s a Christmas present, Granger. You don’t pay them back.”

“But I didn’t get you anything,” she protested, although she had no choice but to accept the box as he forced it into her hands.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he scoffed. “You’re on the losing side of the war.”

She shot him a glare, but pressed the present to her chest, almost fondly. Avery pulled a face.

"It's a present, Granger, not a lover. Don’t coddle it"

Hermione ignored him and said instead, "Christmas was months ago."

"Well, I haven't seen you in months," he replied.

She shifted uncomfortably, mouth throwing out the same excuse she always used, "I've been busy."

"Really?” He scoffed. “With what? _We’ve_ stopped setting fires for _you_ to put out so what could you possibly be spending your time doing? Knitting snout warmers for the werewolves? You and I both know that's a lie."

Hermione met his gaze. There was nothing there to suggest he cared about her avoiding seeing him, and it wasn't as though it was intentional! It was just that she had so much going on, what with trying to destroy Voldemort before he destroyed Lily and James, that she had barely any time to spare for him. That, and she couldn't help but remember that they were on different sides of the war. If- _when_ they won, what would happen to Avery?

She ignored this question, pushing it as far back as she could. There was no point worrying over something that might not even happen. What would happen to _her_ , was an equally reasonable question.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Hermione blinked, offering him a small smile as she opened the box. Her breath caught in her throat. Inside was a small wisp, white in colour, and swirling. She looked up at him in puzzlement. “What is it?”

“It’s ancient magic,” said Avery, watching her carefully as she lifted a finger and touched it. It was somewhat cold, and an odd sensation that Hermione could only relate to feeling running water trickling through the gaps in her fingers. “My father brought it back with him from his travels.”

“What does it do?” Hermione asked, frowning.

Avery hesitated. He was very close to her, and he’d only just realised that all he had to do was duck his head to kiss her. He didn’t. He stepped back. “It’s illegal now. The Ministry don’t like things that they can’t control so they didn’t like this. They thought it defied natural order… like magic doesn’t do that anyway.”

There was something about the way he was so delicately avoiding the question that made her look at him. Her eyebrows were knitted together. “Avery,” she said slowly. “What does it do?”

He looked at her, eyes steady. “It can save one life, and one life only. It’s strong enough to counter even the darkest of magic if only to save the person it’s bonded to.”

" _Avery_ ," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. She couldn't believe it- it _couldn't_ be-

But he wasn't lying to her. His dark eyes were honest and unwavering on hers.

"It absorbs the killing curse."

She let her eyes fall back to the little globe of magic, and the awe that coursed through her was relieving. Magic never failed to amaze her, and yet she’d never heard of something like this- something _death-defying._

"Like I said, it's illegal now,” Avery continued, misjudging her silence for uncertainty. “But I figured the definition of legal is hazy in a war, at best. This is hardly the worst law I've broken."

She frowned at his nonchalance and he smirked. Her annoyance with him faded when she felt the wisp tickle her own magic.

"I don't think you know what this means," Hermione said quietly, clutching the box in her hands and staring at the white tendril. It preened.

"I do," replied Avery, staring at her. "It means you'll live. Or at least survive this war.”

She looked at him then, in shock. "What?"

"Well you're using it on yourself, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head quickly, and she watched as Avery's eyes darkened.

He said in a low voice, "What do you mean, _no?"_

"I mean," Hermione gritted out. "There are more important people who deserve to live."

Avery scoffed incredulously, and she felt her face harden. He said, "Who could possibly be more important than you?"

If they had been arguing over anything else, Hermione would've felt touched by this sentiment but she couldn't. She was too bewildered at his lack of morality.

She exclaimed, “ _Harry!”_

Avery stopped short. This was obviously not the answer he had been anticipating. Incredulously, he demanded, " _Potter's_ baby?"

"I've already had my second chance!" Hermione stressed, feeling the frustration pound through her at Avery's unconvinced expression. He was too stubborn and it was infuriating.

“Well, here’s your third,” said Avery patiently, but his voice was fringed with warning. She ignored it, but tried to keep calm.

“Frédéric,” she said calmly, and she snapped the box shut. The magic deflated immediately, and she felt as though she could breathe freely again. If her use of his first name surprised him, he didn’t show it. He watched her, mouth a stern line, and Hermione wondered whether what she was about to tell him could be said in any other way to make it easier. But at the moment, she couldn’t, for the life in her, think of any alternative so she just let it scorch her tongue. She said gently, “I don’t mind if I don’t make it out of this.”

Avery stared at her, and Hermione thought it was worse that he didn’t react. At least if it had been Sirius or Lily, they would’ve screamed at her, told her how stupid she was to even think like that. Avery was just blank, empty.

Then, he said, in a voice that was as toneless as his face, “Waste it on a baby, then.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s yours, after all. Merry Christmas.”

He held his jacket open, reaching in and plucking a cigarette from a little box nestled in an inside pocket. Hermione’s mouth dropped, and their prior disagreement slipped from her mind.

She said contemptuously, “ _Really?”_

“Cigarettes are the least of my sins,” he murmured, placing the cigarette between his lips. He did it leisurely, almost as if to draw out her irritation.  “One addiction at a time, okay?”

Hermione followed the movement, frowning at it. Her jaw clenched. “Those can kill you,” she told him.

If his teeth hadn’t been biting down on the cigarette, she was sure his smirk would’ve slid off his face and his mouth would have dropped open instead. Avery raised his eyebrows and said slowly, “We’re in a war and _this_ is what you’re scared will kill me?”

She didn’t reply, merely huffed and looked away. He didn’t bother with a lighter, reaching up and clicking his fingers at the end. The flame lit his cigarette, and then disappeared when he lowered his hand again.

“It’s a dirty habit,” Hermione said, and her voice only bordered on disapproving this time. She didn’t care enough to chastise him properly, since _he_ clearly didn’t care either way, but it was unlike her just to drop it. She’d be damned if she didn’t give him a hard time.

Avery took a long drag regardless. “Yeah, well. I’m a Death Eater; dirty and incorrigible, remember? Really, darling, you shouldn’t expect anything less.”

Despite herself, Hermione felt her lips twitch and she tried to bite back the smile but failed.

“There it is,” said Avery, cocking his head, cigarette still between his lips. She looked at him, a small frown of mild puzzlement creasing the space between her eyebrows. “I’ve missed that. It’s like watching the sunrise, watching you smile.”

Hermione faltered, but only because the words were probably the sweetest he’d ever said to her. Even though they’d kissed, they hadn’t progressed any further. She figured it was because this was a _war,_ and as much as Hermione hated the comparison (she cursed Lily for imprinting it in her mind), it really did remind her of Romeo and Juliet. There was too much conflict, too much war and death, and all she could bitterly think was how _right_ Shakespeare had been when he noted _these violent delights have violent ends._

Hermione reached up, plucking his cigarette from between his puckered lips. She flicked it to the ground and he frowned, protest forming on his tongue, when she replaced it with her own lips. She kissed him thoroughly, leaving no part of his mouth unknown to hers. He responded without a second’s hesitation, hands coming up to hold her face. He screwed his eyes shut, kissing her so hard Hermione forgot to breathe. She’d missed him. She’d missed _this_ , being held by someone who would lose their mind if you were to shatter should they let go. When he did finally pull away, it was so that they could both gasp for the air they’d deprived themselves of, for they realised they couldn’t solely survive on one another. He kept his lips on hers though, and when he spoke, they dragged across her skin.

“Please don’t use it on the Potter kid,” Avery breathed. Hermione kept her eyes closed, but she could feel his eyelashes flutter against her cheek. The reek of cigarette smoke caused her nose to wrinkle. He gripped her tighter. “ _Please_ -”

“I don’t want to live if all my friends are dead,” she told him, voice just as quiet. It was almost as if she was scared she’d splinter this moment, where he was holding her so close to him that she could feel all of his scars and bones against her body.

“What about me? Live for _me_.”

Hermione breathed him in. She felt his arms around her like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to this time. He pressed his lips to hers again, softly, barely a kiss, as if he was trying to commit her to his memory.

She knew this delight was violent. It was odd and unconventional and poorly timed. But it was _delightful_ … and Hermione wouldn’t change it for all the time in the world. She kissed him harder, pulling Avery closer to her so that she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

She wouldn’t change _him_ for the world.

**oOoOoOo**

Remus arrived back at Headquarters at the end of May, breathless and hasty. He wasn’t nearly as badly scarred as the last couple times he’d come home, but nobody had time to question this, as he burst through the door and immediately said, “ _Hermione_. I need to see Hermione.”

She heard the commotion and popped her head out of her bedroom door to see what was going on. She’d been sitting on her bed, cross-legged, the little wisp of magic Avery had given her swirling on her palm. Hermione couldn’t control her fascination for it. The mere notion that this small globe could save someone’s life, could absorb even the darkest of dark magic, was unbelievable. She had always been obsessed with the intricacies of magic, coming from a Muggle family, and ever since she’d first gotten her letter, let her eyes memorise the emerald green ink, she’d gotten into the mindset that anything was possible. Then, she’d actually arrived at Hogwarts and the library had been her haven. Hermione had soaked up all the knowledge she could, from every book accessible to her. That was the moment she had realised that magic wasn’t as open as it seemed; there were rules, complicated rules, and boundaries. Obvious ones such as life and death which had to be taken into careful consideration.

This wisp in her hand contradicted everything she had ever been taught. She wanted to test it out, to prove it, but knew that was impossible. When- _if_ she did use it, she’d have to rely on her trust in Avery.

That thought was more comforting than she had anticipated.

It was then that she’d heard a bang outside her door, and her name being called. Hermione jumped up, shoving the globe of magic back into the box and thrusting it under her pillow. She’d grabbed her wand off the bedside table and left her room to see what was going on. The sight that met her eyes was not one that she had expected.

Remus, ragged but unusually _whole_ considering the circumstances, was fighting against Benjy and Caradoc, who were trying to pin him down to the settee to calm him. He was thrashing out, kicking and snarling slightly, narrowly missing Benjy.

Benjy whistled, appearing amused in his exhaustion. “Merlin, what’s gotten into you, Remus? Have the werewolves made you feral?”

“That’s my _pack_ ,” Remus growled, trying to punch him in the gut, but Benjy leapt backwards. He seemed to know better than to make another sarcastic remark, judging by the whiteness of his face and the way he sealed his lips shut.

Peter had just emerged from his room as well, and was watching the scene with wide, perturbed eyes. Hermione hurried to his side and said, “What’s going on?”

He glanced at her, and was surprised at her presence. Before he replied, Peter spun her round, steering her by her shoulders over towards Remus. He said as they moved, “He wants you.”

They only stopped when Hermione was stood directly in front of the werewolf, who uttered her name, but did not stop thrashing about. She shared an alarmed look with Caradoc, who barely spared her a glance as he strained to keep Remus down.

“ _Hey!_ Hey, what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Sirius pushed his way between Marlene and Dorcas, his face contorted in fury. He dragged Benjy away from Remus, who seemed to relax at the sight of him. He was still panting heavily, and his eyes flicked around them all, but he no longer fought. Sirius kneeled down in front of him, monitoring his face closely and said, “Are you alright?”

Remus nodded, too breathless to reply, and slumped back, his head tipped up to the ceiling. Sirius’ jaw clenched and he looked back at Hermione. The anger there was evident, swirling in his dark eyes, making them look entirely black. She knew what he was thinking: Remus wasn’t only risking his life going undercover, he was risking his sanity, and smart comments like that weren’t doing anything to eliminate the stigma, nor the misallocated hatred associated with werewolves.

Hermione moved closer, kneeling besides Sirius. Her eyes caught sight of him holding Remus’ hand firmly, so tight his knuckles were white, and she tried not to let her attention linger on the claws that had grown from the tips of Remus’ fingers. She licked her lips nervously, looking at his face, which was screwed up. “Remus,” she murmured, keeping her voice soft. He hummed in reply. “What did you need me for?”

Without opening his eyes, and chest still heaving, he gritted out, “Orphanage.”

Hermione frowned. “What?”

“Greyback mentioned an orphanage. Voldemort wanted him to station an army of wolves to ‘blend in’ and guard it.” Remus bit his lip so hard it bled, trying to contain another cry.

Sirius swallowed. He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back. Then, he said to the rest of the Order, “Leave. Go back to your rooms. This isn’t a play for your amusement.”

They dispersed quickly enough, not wanting to evoke Sirius’ anger, having caught a sneak preview of it only minutes ago. Only Peter and Caradoc remained.

Hermione glanced at him, and she saw the question in his frown.

_Will you be okay?_

She bowed her head in a nod. His face shifted, eyes narrowing, flicking to Remus and back.

_Are you sure he’s safe?_

She raised her eyebrows and he took that as a cue to leave. Peter stayed a considerable distance away, arms folded across his chest. Hermione thought that was probably for the better.

Once the room was empty, she returned her attention to Remus, asking urgently, “What do you mean? Why would Voldemort be interested in an orphanage?”

Her mind was whirring, working quickly to try and make sense of what she was being told. Her heart was beating in her chest.

“Because there’s something… of ‘great importance’ hidden in it,” Remus got out, teeth clenching as his body was racked with another spasm. A hiss escaped.

The colour drained from Sirius’ face. “What’s happening to you, Remus? What have they done to you?”

“It’s the wolf,” he replied and it sounded as though every bone in his body was rejecting his speech. “Being around other wolves meant I didn’t have to control it… that I could switch whenever. I’m not used to having to hold back.”

Hermione tuned out of the conversation. _Something of great importance._ She tried not to get her hopes up, but her body froze with realisation.

“The cup,” she whispered.

Remus cracked one eye open to look at her. Blood was dribbling down his chin, but he still managed a grin. “That’s what I thought.”

Sirius looked between the two of them, still clutching his hand tightly but seemingly forgetting about Remus’ pain for a moment. He said, “The last horcrux?”

“But why would it be at an orphanage?” Peter spoke up for the first time, bewilderment getting the better of him. Hermione stopped, her body going still, eyes stuck on one spot.

“Hermione?” Sirius prompted, dragging her back into reality but instead of replying to him, she turned straight to Remus.

“Did he mention a name?” She asked. “Does Wools Orphanage sound familiar at all?”

Remus shook his head, grimacing. He seemed to be in control now, but exhausted from the struggle if the way he melted into the cushions was anything to go by. Hermione deflated.

Peter recognised this too and came forward. He was frowning. “Why? What’s Wools Orphanage?”

“It’s the Orphanage Tom Riddle grew up in,” she told them. At their confusion, she explained, “Voldemort.”

Sirius’ eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Shit. No wonder he went bat-shit crazy.”

“That’s no excuse,” said Remus, eyebrows drawn into a deep line. “Your family rejected you and you haven’t gone evil.”

“Yet,” Sirius supplied, with a devilish grin. Remus rolled his eyes. Despite spending months away in a werewolf den and fearing things would all be different when he came back, things never failed to stay exactly the same. Or should he say, _Sirius_ never failed to stay exactly the same. Remus slackened his grip on his hand, rubbing his thumb across Sirius’ knuckles to let him know how grateful he was for the bit of normalcy he provided.

“Why would Voldemort hide a part of his soul at his old Orphanage?” asked Peter, who seemed unconvinced.

Hermione felt the tension build up inside of her, fuelled by the excitement of _finally_ having a lead. “So far, his horcruxes have all been hidden in places that, however unpleasant the memories or location, _mean_ something to Voldemort. The diary was hidden at his loyal servant’s house; the ring was found at his mother’s home; the diadem at Hogwarts and the locket in a cave he used to visit when… when _at_ the Orphanage.”

It felt like all the jigsaw pieces were slowly but surely dropping into place, and Hermione wanted to hit herself for not connecting the dots earlier. Of course it was at Wools! The place was probably shut down by now, and though he hated it with a burning passion, barely anyone knew about his past, much less his original identity! He counted on that, knowing it would be safe there.

She wanted to smirk, but it was incredibly un-Hermione-like. Voldemort always seemed to be underestimating her.

The smirk slid off her face fairly quickly, just as quickly in fact as she had pondered letting it curl her lips. But of course he wasn’t. If Remus was right (and he must be), Voldemort had arranged for an entire invisible arm to patrol the Orphanage. It wouldn’t be an easy mission.

Hermione breathed in, and she realised all three of them were watching her. She said, “It’s not going to be easy. Even if we _are_ right and this _is_ the location of the cup, it’s not going to be as straightforward as walking in there and walking back out with it swinging round our finger.”

There was a moment of silence where they all digested this. Then Peter shrugged. “We all knew it was building up to this. Whether it kills us or not.”

Her laugh was wry and short. She said, “People are going to die on this mission. We’ll have to destroy all the other horcruxes at the same time or he’ll _know._ And he’ll come after us-”

“But it’s the last one,” said Remus, eyes piercing her. She fought not to shift under his gaze. _If only you knew._ “We’ll need time to plan it all out. We’ll use everyone, scatter them around the country and destroy all the horcruxes at the same time, like one massive blow.”

“Then we can destroy Voldemort for good,” Sirius said ardently. “We can save James and Lily. And Harry! We can end the war!”

The boys murmured in agreement, but Hermione could only stare, offering them a small smile every time one of them looked her way. Remus was right; they’d have to destroy _all_ the horcruxes at once if they had any chance of defeating him.

_If only you knew._


	86. Chapter 86- The Light

** Chapter 86- The Light **

**June 1981**

They assembled a meeting as soon as they could. It took two weeks from when Remus first told her of the location of the cup, since he had to rest (Hermione insisted it) and they needed to wait until Dumbledore was away on business to the continent as she highly doubted he would be complacent with her plans. Hermione needed him busy and absent. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want him interfering, but after their last conversation, she couldn’t bring herself to trust him.

He wanted to control how she used her knowledge, and Hermione knew that, despite his claims that it was all for the best, she would never be able to sit back and let the things that were going to happen happen. She would rather die.

 _“The past has not been changed. The future has not once trembled. Time does not exist- we created it, or the idea of it, and if I let you continue,_ you _will be the end of it."_

She didn’t like to admit it, but his words unnerved her more than what she let on. Dumbledore was always right, he always seemed to know things that the rest of them didn’t. What if he was right this time too?

Hermione dispelled the thought from her mind lest it linger. _No_. She wouldn’t let him be.

She shook her head slightly, trying to get rid of his voice. It wouldn’t do to have those words echoing through her brain when she was going behind his back to do exactly what he warned her not to.

“Right,” said Hermione, raising her voice to gain their attention. They were in the main part of Headquarters, and the Order had either dragged chairs over or were stood in front of her. The hum of chatter quietened. She gulped. “The reason I’ve called this meeting is because we need a _plan_ -”

“Plan for what?” Benjy interrupted immediately.

Sirius, stood beside her, with his arms folded across his chest, slanted his eyes at him. “Well, if you listen, she’ll tell you.”

Hermione shot him a grateful smile. Her palms were sweating. She continued, “Some of you know, some of you don’t, but throughout the war, we’ve been searching for things, objects, which will help us destroy Voldemort.” She licked her lips nervously. “These… _things_ are called horcruxes, and they’re a piece of incredibly dark magic in which a part of a person’s soul is stored. Unless the horcruxes are destroyed, the person remains immortal.”

“You mean Voldemort can’t die?” Alice whispered, round face pale, eyes wide. Her and Frank had come alone, opting to leave Neville with Augusta, Frank’s mother. Lily and James, on the other hand, had no such liberty and James was sat on the armchair, Lily perching on the arm, bouncing Harry up and down. He was listening, for his eyes were glued to Hermione, but a small smile curled his lips as his baby giggled into his shirt.

Hermione forced herself to look at Alice. The bubbly, spirited girl she had met at the Quidditch match was barely a ghost of the woman sitting in front of her now. “I mean, he _couldn’t_. And he wouldn’t be able to… If we hadn’t found all his horcruxes.”

There was a murmur that rippled through the crowd, as if they knew what that meant but didn’t want to voice it in case they were wrong, in case the hope that had blossomed inside of them was misplaced.

Caradoc said knowingly, “That’s what this is about. You want to plan how to destroy them.”

The Order looked from him to Hermione, gauging her reaction. She nodded. “And it’s going to take all of us to do that.” Her eyes found Lily and James, Frank and Alice. “That’s why I invited you. Dumbledore would kill me if he knew-”

“Oh, _stuff Dumbledore!”_ Lily exclaimed. James looked at her in surprise but she was far too frustrated to apologise for her language. “Since he told us about this prophecy, all he’s wanted to do is lock us up! If we’re going to die anyway, why not let us fight? Why not let us die _doing_ something instead of cowering and waiting for _him_ to come to _us?”_

There was silence as the Order digested her outburst. Their discomfort was evident and it frazzled the air, their eyes all dropping away to look at the floor or the wall or their feet. James subconsciously cradled Harry closer, and his hand found his wife’s. It seemed to calm her, for she deflated, but the fire in her eyes did not go out.

Remus said quietly, “Don’t talk like that. You’re not going to die. That’s what this meeting is all about. We’re not going to let any more people die for this war.”

Hermione averted her eyes to the floor, and she felt her tongue working quickly to move the conversation on. “I was thinking we could split into teams,” she said. Remus’ questioning eyes felt hot on her skin. “The teams will be dispersed all over the country and each will be assigned a horcrux to destroy. A separate, larger team will be responsible for collecting the last horcrux. As soon as that’s destroyed, we’ll send the message and the stationed groups will get rid of their own. After that, it’s just a case of hunting down and killing Voldemort himself.”

She waited, monitoring their reactions. The Order shared looks, eyes hard and thoughtful; they knew they didn’t have much choice. They’d been fighting this war for too long that they would take any chance they got to end it.

“Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say I’m in,” said Dorcas. She was standing with Emmeline, their hands brushing but not touching. She spoke blankly, as though there was no other option and she knew it.

Hermione ran her eyes along the group. “Is this true?”

There was a murmur of assent. Whether they dropped their heads in a nod, or spoke aloud, the Order of the Phoenix agreed. It was time to kill Voldemort. It was time to win the war.

“Right,” she said, and she only just managed to stop the relief from creeping into her voice. “Well, I think groups of twos would be best. That way you’re not alone, but you’re not in too big a group that you can’t watch each other’s backs. The group that will be responsible for collecting the cup will be Sirius, Remus, Peter, James and myself- I’ll brief you on what’s going to happen at a later date. Everyone else needs to find a partner.”

Immediately, the Order assembled themselves into groups of twos. They were predictable ones, and she knew who was going to pick who before they’d even begun to move. Emmeline and Dorcas didn’t even twitch- they were already as close as two people could be, and nobody would dare try to separate them. Frank reached for Alice’s hand, smiling at her as he squeezed it. Marlene huffed her way over to link her arm through Lily’s, and her smile was small and somewhat sad as the other girl looked at her; it was moments like this in which Mary’s absence became all the more noticeable. That left Benjy, who bounced to stand beside Caradoc, seeing as though the latter had refused to move. He was staring at Hermione.

“I’m coming with _you_ ,” Caradoc said firmly. Hermione could see the determination swelling and unmoving in his eyes. She swallowed, but shook her head.

“No. You’ll be in enough danger as it is.”

When he opened his mouth to argue, she stressed, “I’m not losing you again, Caradoc.”

This seemed to throw him off, for he faltered. Caradoc’s eyes continued to stare into hers, and he searched them quickly, for any hesitance, for any indecision. When he found nothing, he deflated.

Hermione forced herself to look at the rest of the group, nodding absently when she noticed they had all gotten into pairs and were now awaiting her next command.

“With your partners, you need to pick a location; somewhere obscure, somewhere Voldemort won’t be able to find you,” said Hermione. “This is where you’ll have to wait, until given a signal… And then you’ll have to destroy the horcrux you’re given.”

“Conwy,” said Marlene. They all looked at her. She offered a small smile. “My parents used to take me camping there.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Lily said, “Conwy. Okay. That’s our location.”

The other groups murmured their suggestions for location and Hermione waited patiently until the discussion dimmed and they all returned their eyes to her. She clapped her hands together, rubbing them to soothe her nerves, and said, “Caradoc and Benjy, you’ll take the locket. I want you to be the first to destroy it, as soon as you get the message.”

“What message?” Caradoc asked, arms folded across his chest.

“I’m going to teach you all how to cast the Patronus Charm-”

“Isn’t that really complex magic?” questioned Emmeline, frowning.

Hermione replied, “Yes. That’s why I need to teach you it. We can use the charm to notify the next team. It’ll be like a domino-effect; as soon as the first is destroyed, the charm will be sent and the team with the next horcrux will know it’s their cue.

“Alice and Frank will be the second team. You two will have the ring. Benjy will send you a Patronus as soon as he and Caradoc have successfully destroyed the locket.”

“How do we know if it’s destroyed?” asked Peter quietly, who had stayed silent up until that point.

A shadow passed across her face, and she said, “Trust me. You’ll know.”

_-shadows, billowing and violent, rushing against her face, hissing, spitting, threatening to **suffocate** her-_

Hermione cleared her throat. She continued, trying to soothe her jangled nerves, “Once the ring is destroyed, Alice and Frank will send the word and it will be up to Marlene and Lily to get rid of the diary. Finally, Emmeline and Dorcas will be left to destroy the diadem. Once you’ve completed your mission, you need to apparate _immediately_ back to Headquarters. I don’t want you sticking around any longer than you have to… As soon as Voldemort feels the first horcrux being destroyed, he’ll be desperate to find whoever is behind it. He relies on his horcruxes. He’ll do anything to preserve them. It will be all or nothing. This could kill him, or us.”

There was a moment where they fell quiet, a moment where they considered the inexplicable danger they would be putting themselves in. Then, Sirius said, “What have we got to lose?”

“Our _lives?”_ Marlene suggested, raising her eyebrows. He levelled his gaze at her. She barely flinched away.

“Okay. So we’ve got our lives, but we’ve also got the hundreds, possibly thousands, maybe millions if Voldemort gets his way, of lives that will be reduced to nothing if we fail,” said Sirius steadily. “If we don’t do this, we’ll spend the rest of the war, the rest of our _lives_ \- and that’s only _if_ we live!- thinking what if.” He broke off, a strangled gasp being torn from his throat as he struggled for words. Hermione wanted to reach out and hold his hand or feel the raggedness of his heartbeat. Sirius shook his head, as if to clear it. “I don’t want to fight anymore! I’m so fucking fed up of it all, of everyone dying and losing hope!”

Eventually, Hermione couldn’t stop herself and she stepped closer to him. The movement drew his eyes to her, and then he became aware of everyone watching him. His throat bobbed.

Lily said quietly, so that her voice wouldn’t tremble, “That’s why we’re going to kill him. We’re going to destroy him once and for all and then we’re going to live normally, and happily. Like we were meant to.”

Hermione stared at her, and the way the rest of the Order agreed fell deaf on her ears. _Like we were meant to._ She remembered hearing those exact words in her own time, when she and Ron were left to wait for Harry to come back. Ron’s voice was hot and wet in her ears, the promise searing, and his blue eyes had been unwavering as he’d looked at her. She remembered the feel of his hand in hers, the pressure as he squeezed her fingers, reminding her she was still alive and there was still so much to lose and that they still had _hope_ , as long as Harry-

But then Hermione also remembered the way that hope had been snuffed out; the way her best friend’s body had dropped to the floor. Broken. Unmoving.

“Are you sure we can do this?” Someone was asking. Their voice was less scared and more fractured.

She started speaking absently, saying the words because she knew they needed to be said. “I know this war has lasted a long time. In all honesty, I had hoped that it would be over within a year or two.” Hermione paused and she was acutely aware of their eyes on her, the way their breath hitched. She licked her cracked lips and said, “I know that there is _so_ _much_ hurt in all of you. That you sometimes can’t see or breathe because it’s so dark. I know all about that.” She held back the tears as she spoke, but Hermione heard the way her voice kept breaking, and she closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, her resolve was burning.

“But I also know this: all the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle. There is evil in the world, yes, but there is also _good_ ; irrevocable amounts of good! And it is this good that must prosper. It is this good that we must fight for and will for and lay down our lives for, because it is this good, this light, that will save us all. The world is dark at the moment. There is no denying it. But there is one thing that we must look towards, and we must salvage against all else, because it is the only thing that has any hope of protecting us. Look for it. Keep it close and sheltered. Keep it in your hearts and minds and don't let it go out. Don't lose it, don't let the darkness engulf it. Don't forget it.”

Hermione felt a tear fall when she blinked. Her friends, the ones she’d grown up with and fought side-by-side with, the ones she’d seen shatter into millions of pieces and then rebuild themselves painstakingly, were watching her. Some of them were crying, some of them were looking as though they needed her words to survive off of. Maybe they did. Maybe their situation was that dire, that words and the hope injected into them was powerful enough to be a life-force.

“There is darkness all around us. And yet, after everything, after every battle, every death, every attempt to extinguish it- there is still the _light_. We can’t let it go out. Not when we’re this close.”

Her speech, for she realised with a blush and hasty brush of her cheeks, was met with silence. And then the Order started clapping. There was no cheering, no euphoria or joy, just thunderous applause that shook her.

Caradoc was looking at her in that scrutinising way of his, and he tipped his head when he said, “Nice speech, kid.”

James, who was cuddling a sleeping baby close to his chest with one hand, slipped his wand out of his pocket and lifted it into the air. His eyes were fixed on her and he smiled. “To the light,” he toasted.

Slowly but surely, each of the Order members reached for their wands and held them into the sky, honouring the only thing they had left besides one another. Hermione felt a warmth blossom in her chest and she almost gasped from the relief it racked her with. She pointed her wand up, and said quietly, “To the light.”

This was what it came down to, she realised. It didn’t matter how hard they had fought, or how many times they had been knocked down. It didn’t matter how many they had started with compared to how many they had now. What mattered was the fact that they were still fighting. They were still there, against all odds, wreaking havoc and rebelling for a future they deserved; the life they were meant to live.

“Hermione.” She looked up, jolted out of her thoughts, and it took her a minute to realise that Headquarters was empty. They must’ve filtered out, and although she didn’t want to admit it, she was glad that they had all gone before she crumbled.

Sirius had stayed behind, and he was staring at her now. His gaze was soft, tender, as though he could see right through her. Hermione smiled at him, but it was only an unsmiling twitch of her lips.

“That was some inspiration back there,” he told her. There was an emptiness to his voice, but an awe to his eyes and she nodded.

The words slipped out without her meaning them to.

“I don’t know whether I can do it.”

Sirius, who had opened his mouth to say something, faltered. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, but before he could ask what she meant, Hermione continued hurriedly, “I’ve been so caught up in saving you, I just assumed I was doing the right thing, but Dumbledore doesn’t want me interfering anymore. He just wants me to step back and he’s always been right. What if he’s right this time too?”

“Dumbledore wanted you to step back?” Rage flushed Sirius’ pretty but rugged face, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He growled, “That conniving son of a bitch.”

Hermione waited for him to say something more, and when he realised, Sirius came closer. His grey eyes were insistent when he said, “You want to know why you can do it? Why you will? Because you’re a fighter. You’re stubborn. And you refuse to sit back and let your friends _die_ -!”

“Yes, but _what if they die anyway?”_

Hermione didn’t realise the words had left her lips before it was too late to grapple for them to take them back. The worry strained her throat, thrust everything out into the open and frigid air between them. He didn’t reply for a minute or two, just stared at her, and she forced herself to look at him. His voice was low and delicate when he finally spoke.

“You told me once that you were here to save people,” said Sirius, his eyes watching her carefully. “That’s what you’re doing Hermione.” Before she could open her mouth to argue, he shook his head, pointing at her and said, “No, listen. You’ve saved us. So many times, that I’m beginning to lose count. You’ve saved us from ourselves, from each other, from crumbling and falling. You have saved _so many_ people-”

“I didn’t save your brother,” Hermione said quietly. Sirius stopped.

He huffed a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

They both stared at one another and there was something in their shared gaze that made Hermione feel closer to him than she’d ever felt.

“Regulus didn’t want to be saved. Maybe in the beginning, but not in the end, not when it counted. He didn’t want to be saved, he wanted to save _you_.” Sirius’ eyes were urging and solemn, begging her to understand. His lips twitched. “Believe it or not, Kitten, you’re not the only self-sacrificial martyr in this war.”

Hermione felt herself smile, and she shook her head at him. They sobered up quickly.

“I only believe in three things- the Chudley Cannons will never win the league, no matter how much James seems to think otherwise, the eventual decline of society as we know it, and you,” Sirius said finally, and he was so grave, so sincere and every word trembled deep within her. “If anyone can do it, Hermione, it’s you.”

And for the first time in a long time, there was no doubt rooted within her. Hermione believed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> AN: I’M SO SORRY ABOUT THE LONG WAIT! School has started again and I’ve just had no motivation to actually sit down and finish this chapter. That’s why it’s pretty jilted, but planning always is. Next chapter will be the action and believe me, it’s going to be tense! I know this chapter is short but I promise the next one will be very very long for you:) Although I don’t know when the next one will be up as I’m getting loads of work to do since it’s GCSE year:( and I’m also trying to work on an original book that I put to the side to focus on this fanfic.
> 
> I really hope this is okay. THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING ME! It seems crazy to think I’m nearing the end when it only seems like yesterday when I had just uploaded and had, maybe, 3 follows and 1 review? I can never ever fully express my appreciation. You guys have helped me grow as a writer and as a person and I’m so much more confident now thanks to you. So thank you. I can only hope this fanfiction has helped you in some way so I can at least pretend I’ve paid you back! Hope you’re all well. See you next chapter!!


	87. Chapter 87- The Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry about the delay again. I was super excited about writing this and I wrote so much before I accidentally overwrote it on my iCloud. To cut a long story short, I was really really upset at how stupid I was and every time I tried to rewrite it, it came out so much worse than how I’d done it the first time round which made me really annoyed with myself again. In the end, I had to just push through it which is why this chapter is so crap. Sorry guys!
> 
>  

 

** Chapter 87- The Cup **

 

“No,” said Sirius immediately. His arms were tight across his chest, his lips a stern line. Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s not coming.”

Avery scoffed, but he didn’t look overly offended at this denial. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in, trying to calm herself so she didn’t slap the ignorance out of him.

“He _is_ coming,” she told Sirius patiently, and he let out a sound of indignation. Avery’s lips curled ever so slightly but the smirk dropped almost as quickly as it had formed at the glare Hermione shot him.

He said instead, “Yeah, so suck it up Black. I’m on your side.”

“Really? Then what’s that _thing_ on your arm, huh?” Sirius demanded, eyes flaming and furious. Remus watched him carefully, seemingly on the verge of intercepting should his boyfriend pounce.

Avery averted his eyes to the floor, and he tugged the sleeve of his cloak further down his arm.

“It’s proof that he’s saved us and tipped us off more times than I can remember!” Hermione said, and her voice strained with poorly concealed fury. James’ hand was warm and firm on her arm, and she deflated.

He said, eyes fixed on Sirius, “He’s proved himself before. He saved Hermione. That _thing_ on his arm is what’s given us the edge in every fight against Voldemort.” Sirius let out a huff of air through his nose, turning away. James continued, “You need to let go of your school-aged stigma and grow up, Sirius.”

There was a moment of silence. The main room of Headquarters was empty as all the other groups had apparated away to their chosen destination. This final group, the one responsible for retrieving the cup, contrived of Hermione, Avery, Sirius, Remus, James and Peter, had stalled when Sirius had both physically and verbally protested against Avery joining them.

“Hermione’s right,” Peter said quietly and they all looked at him. He didn’t shy away from their attention, like he might’ve done last year. His hardened eyes flicked to and from each of their faces. “Avery’s helped with too much for us to just give up on him now. We need him.”

Sirius shook his head, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead of arguing, he cut his eyes to Remus, challenging him to say something.

“Even with Avery, are there enough of us?” Remus asked, frowning and his eyes flitted to each of their group. Sirius’ jaw clenched at the change of subject, and he seemed to realise that Remus had come to terms with Avery’s inclusion.

“No,” Avery replied, arms folded tight across his chest. Hermione glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that. There’s not. As soon as they start destroying the horcruxes, he’ll know. And then he’ll send Death Eaters to fight us, a whole army of them!”

She stared at him stonily. He raised his eyebrows. “There are six of us,” he pointed out.

“And that will be enough,” Hermione said. Her eyes lingered on him, before she dragged them to everyone else. Avery scoffed. Remus was standing quietly in the corner, watching her. “By the time we get the cup, it won’t matter. We’ll give the signal and the others will destroy the horcruxes they have. Voldemort will be too weak to properly control them. We will all meet back at Headquarters before the Death Eaters have even assembled their army.”

“What about the werewolves?” Remus questioned. His voice was barely a fracture on the air. Hermione felt her throat clench.

“We have magic,” she said simply.

Whilst the others seemed sated by this, there was something in Remus’ eyes that made her falter.

She swallowed. “This plan is fool proof. The horcruxes will be destroyed, no one will die. We won’t even have to fight. It will work, and then we can focus on killing Voldemort.”

James let out a cheer, like he used to when they planned a prank. Peter cracked a small smile. Even Sirius seemed to slump, the conviction in her voice inspiring a grin from him. Hermione finally brought her attention back to Avery. He was staring at her, and she could tell he wasn’t convinced. The message in his eyes was clear. _You’re not right. You’re so wrong._

She didn’t need to ask, but Hermione did anyway. _Are you still with me?_

He rolled his eyes. _Of course I am._

**oOoOoOo**

The Orphanage was different to how Hermione had imagined it. For some reason, she had pictured it as a fairly mundane, if a little bland, building, having not dared to draw upon her imagination to explore the possibilities of what Tom Riddle's childhood home would look like.

She prided herself on being rational and logical, of never straying too far beyond the boundaries of improbable. But even she had to stop to stare up at the formidable fortress towering before her.

Wools Orphanage was like something out of a nightmare, with dark grey brick and a spiky roof, and tall chimneys which disappeared into the fog of London. Hermione had wanted to believe that it would be any other building, but it wasn’t. It was terrifying. She sucked in a sharp breath, and she felt Peter tense beside her. Avery brushed her knuckles with his.

“Fuck me, that’s a haunted house and a half,” muttered Sirius. They all looked at him and he raised his eyebrows.

“Where are the werewolves?” Remus murmured. They stayed quiet, listening to the way something howled and praying it was the wind.

“Maybe Voldemort hasn’t put them in place yet,” James suggested but he didn’t sound convinced. Hermione hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him.

Avery’s eyes were cool and scrutinising on her skin, and she tried not to let it affect her. He breathed in and said, “Maybe,” but she heard the scepticism in his voice.

Hermione looked behind her, sweeping the street. Around the Orphanage was line after line of terraced houses, all as grim and dark as the building before them. There was not a soul in sight, no-one. She swallowed, and forced herself to speak.

“Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s get looking.”

And so they did.

They split into pairs, so that they could cover the building in less time, having not anticipated the sheer size of the place. James and Peter took upstairs; Remus and Sirius scoped the grounds and Hermione and Avery searched downstairs.

Avery strolled leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, trailing his finger through the dust. She kept her wand out in front of her, ignited, scaring away the shadows when they dared to get too close and shooting him a glare every time she looked over her shoulder. Avery sighed.

“I can feel your anger. It’s pulsating.”

Hermione huffed, refraining from stomping her feet as she spun to face him. She demanded, “Can you stop?”

“Stop what?” He asked, eyebrows raised slightly. His voice was light. She grinded her teeth together.

“Stop _faffing_ about and start taking this seriously!”

Avery tilted his head, holding a hand to his heart before he said, “I _am_ taking this seriously.”

She scowled at him, looking away before she acted on the urge to smack him.

“No you’re not,” she muttered bitterly.

“Well I suppose I’m just following your lead,” said Avery, and there was only the smallest twinge of a bite in his voice.

Hermione felt her anger flare up inside of her and she questioned in a low voice, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Avery’s eyebrows quirked and he adjusted a porcelain bird on the fireplace in the room they were in. He said, “It means that you evidently aren’t taking this mission seriously seeing as how you’ve sent your four best friends to their death-”

“I have _not_ -” she started, fuming.

“Yes, you have,” he cut her off, bored. “You brought them to a place that is being patrolled by an army of werewolves. Even I was surprised. I knew of your Slytherin side, but I thought that you were more flower than snake. Maybe I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong!” Hermione snapped, and she felt the house groan in response to the crackle in her magic. She paused to try and calm herself, feeling the old house relax again, then said, “I did what I had to. Tell me, Avery, what would you have done?”

“I would have waited,” said Avery patiently.

“And let Lily and James die?”

“It’s not just about Lily and James!” Avery stressed, voice breaking as he tried not to yell. The windows shuddered in their loose frames. The panelled wood cried splinters and dust. Hermione inhaled a shaky breath, averting her eyes because she feared she would strangle him if she continued to look at him for a second longer. It was really extraordinary how many times she wanted to murder him in such a short space of time.

He let out the air he’d been holding, calmer now, and repeated, “It’s not just about Lily and James. It’s about so much more. It’s about everyone. It’s about me. It’s about you-”

“No,” Hermione said softly. Avery looked surprised at her interruption. She finally dragged her eyes to look at him. “It’s not about me.”

“Don’t you dare say it’s about Potter’s baby,” he growled. When she didn’t reply, he let out a ragged sigh and dragged a hand down his face. Then, he said in a quieter voice, “Did you bring the magic I gave you?”

Hermione cleared her throat, turning to continue her perusal through the room. She muttered a quick detection charm, searching for any trace of magic, before she said, “No.”

Avery nodded, but didn’t comment. Instead, he pushed himself off the wall and followed her through the house.

**oOoOoOo**

A rat scurried out from beneath the stream of a thick curtain and James jumped. He held a hand to his racing heart, willing it to be still, and a shaky laugh escaped him. Peter's grin was a ghost of what it once was.

James continued through the room, wand tight in his hand, brushing against his thigh every time he moved. Peter, on the other hand, was the embodiment of Constant Vigilance, wand out in front of him, eyes darting and keen. His entire body was on high-alert.

James said, "I've forgotten what we're even looking for."

"A cup," Peter reminded him without missing a beat.

James huffed a laugh, wiping his sleeve along his forehead at the bit of sweat that had broken out. He didn't know why he was so nervous. _Not nervous_ , he denied hastily. _Anticipating._

But James _did_ know why he was so excited. He hadn't felt this free in a long time. He swallowed the fresh air and danger like he'd been deprived of it (and he had). He thrived off of the erratic beat of his heart, wild and leaping, anxious to fight. His adrenaline was just waiting to kick in, and part of him (the part that was selfish) secretly hoped they'd encounter a spare Death Eater or two. He longed for a fight, for the chance to prove he was still kicking, still alive.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Peter slamming a cupboard shut. He chuckled.

"Try being a bit gentler, Pete. Don't want to entice the werewolves any more than we have to."

Peter shrugged, offering a half-hearted apology, and continued rooting about. James followed his lead, opening drawers and looking under cushions. He didn't honestly think Voldemort would hide his soul in plain sight but it made him feel like he was doing something.

After the first couple of rooms, however, their search became monotonous. James had to refrain from sighing, and fought to hide his disappointment each time the places they searched turned up empty. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to leave the confines of his home and do something good, something that would help the Order to end this war. And yet so far, they'd done nothing besides peer in glass cabinets and upheave dusty furniture, to find nothing.

James couldn't bite back the aggravated sigh from leaving his lips and Peter shot him a questioning look.

He said, for some reason more irritable than he had been a moment ago, "There's nothing here. We've been looking for ages and nobody's found anything! We don't even know for sure whether the cup is here and yet we've planned an entire mission around this being its location! What if it’s not here? What then?”

Peter watched him morosely. He kicked a buffet that was by his feet, and it went flying across the room, splintering into the wall. The impact seemed to echo, making the house groan, and James stared at the place it had hit, ignoring the throbbing in his toes.

Peter rushed over to him, grabbing his arm and said, “Careful. We don’t want to have to entice the werewolves any more than we have to.”

James cracked a grin at him, but it was weak and diluted with fatigue. He was tired. Tired of not doing anything, tired of fighting, tired of fearing for his life.

“We're not meant to live in a world like this,” he said to Peter, who just watched him, still clutching his arm. James laughed but the sound was torn and upset. “I'm sick of being scared all the time. I'm sick of anticipating death. I don't want anyone else to die. I'm sick of it.”

Peter swallowed, and his eyes flicked away then back to James’ face. He said, “Don’t say that. You’re gonna survive this, James. You’re gonna fight and you’re going to live. I know you’re sick of it. I am too, but that’s not a good enough reason to give up.”

James stared at him. His hazel eyes traced over the lines in Peter’s face, the deep ones which made him look ten years older. He looked at the dark shadows and the determination in every part of his skin. James didn’t even recognise the man stood before him.

"I'm proud of you, you know," James told him. Peter inhaled sharply, but he made no other noise. He stared at James with careful eyes. "I am. I'm proud of you; of who you are and who you've become. I'm proud of how you've fought, and how you've survived. Of how you dealt after... after Mary's death. I'm proud to be your friend, Pete."

Peter was staring at him still, and he seemed too shocked to speak. He shook his head, averting his eyes to the floor quickly, and said in a quiet, almost cracked, voice, "James, why are you saying this?"

James faltered. His face grew pale and now he was the one to look away. He said, "Just in case I-"

He broke off, laughing slightly, dragging a hand down his face. He forced himself to finish, and James hated how small and pained he sounded.

"Just in case I don't make it out of all this with you."

"James," began Peter. He said very carefully, "You're not going to die."

James tried to brush him off and laugh, but it caught in his throat and came out as more of a sob. He swallowed. Peter walked forwards, so he was stood directly in front of him and James had no option but to look at him.

"You're not going to die," he said slowly. James stared at him. He'd never seen Peter look so serious. "You're not going to die."

 And though James nodded, and smiled shakily, he didn't quite believe him.

**oOoOoOo**

“Remus,” said Sirius. Remus sighed, but chose not to reply, instead opting to continue his perusal through the grounds. It wasn’t pitch-black, but the sky was dark, and although they could make out spindly trees and outhouses dotted about the vast grounds, they were formed from shadows. Sirius said, “Remus. Hey, Remus. Remus-”

“ _What_ , Sirius?” Remus asked exasperatedly, finally turning to face him.

Sirius grinned, flicking his hair back, and said, “Do I look radiant in the moonlight?”

Remus scowled, before continuing to walk away. Sirius called after him, “Don’t you just want to _ravish_ me?”

Remus huffed a laugh and said, “There’ll be enough werewolves volunteering for that later, believe me.”

“Do they like pretty faces?” asked Sirius, raising an eyebrow.

“As a matter of fact,” said Remus. “They do. Apparently, it’s more satisfying to destroy something beautiful.”

Sirius’ smile dropped, and he swallowed. He continued in a quiet voice, “That’s why Greyback infected you.”

“No,” denied Remus bitterly. He still didn’t look at him. “Greyback bit me as retribution for my father’s prejudice.”

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, before he forced himself to follow Remus, reaching out to grab his arm. Remus wrenched it from his grip, spinning round, but he still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Sirius said, “Are you scared?”

“Scared of what?”

Remus raised his chin, looking at him. Sirius searched his eyes.

“Scared of death? Of the werewolves-?”

Remus made an incoherent noise, dismissive and irritable, and began to extricate himself, and walk away when Sirius called after him, “Scared of yourself?”

Remus paused.

His breathing was loud in Sirius’ ears, even though he was choking on holding the harsh pants back. Sirius slowly moved to stand beside him, watching him carefully.

“You don’t have to be afraid of yourself,” he said.

“No. Maybe it’s you who should be afraid,” replied Remus harshly, but there was no real threat there. It was more drained than anything else.

Sirius frowned. He shook his head slightly. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

“Because I’m a monster!” Remus burst, and he whirled round to face him. His eyes were burning, and he looked as though he was resisting something, like he was holding back.

Sirius tried not to show his concern. Remus was right. He _was_ scared. Not of him. _For_ him.

But he just gripped Remus’ arm tightly, unquestioningly, dragging him closer, and said in a low voice, “You’re not a monster, Remus. Those _people_ you were sent to live with. That pack. _They’re_ the monsters, okay? We are so close to it being over now. We are so close to the end. I promise you that you will never have to go back to them. Ever.”

Remus deflated, and he could see the promise, flaming and resolute, in Sirius’ eyes. He was speechless, and Sirius seemed to misinterpret it for something else, for he pulled him close, into a firm and suffocating embrace. But Remus didn’t hug him back. He just stood there, numb. Because he wasn’t sure what to feel.

He dropped his chin to rest on Sirius’ shoulder, allowed himself to melt into the warmth the other boy supplied, but Remus couldn’t stop himself from wondering whether that was really what he wanted. The wolf inside shifted restlessly.

And then his eyes caught on something, glimmering gold in the moonlight.

Remus patted Sirius’ back, murmuring his name, and it was only when he cleared his throat and said it louder did Sirius pull back and look at him in confusion. Remus didn’t waste time with words, however. He moved past him, eyes locked on the glimmer, not daring to look away in case it disappeared.

But it didn’t disappear. As Remus moved closer, it seemed to preen under his gaze, beckoning him forward.

The small lake was black on the surface, and although he couldn’t see the bottom, he could see the gold light on the bed of it. He couldn’t even see what was emitting the light, but somehow, Remus knew.

It was the cup.

Hastily, he started shedding himself of his clothing. The night’s air wasn’t cold, but it was far from warm, and he ignored the goosebumps rising on his bare skin as he pulled his shirt over his head. Sirius was beside him at that point, questions pouring from his lips, but Remus paid no attention to him. He shimmied out of his trousers, throwing them aside, before slipping out of his shoes and peeling his socks off.

The final thing he heard before he dived into the water was Sirius yelling his name, his fingers ghosting his spine.

And then Remus was submerged in iciness.

There was a blackness everywhere, but he fought to keep his eyes open, and on the gold glimmer. It was the only beacon of light he could follow. The closer he got, the more blinding it became until he had to close his eyes almost entirely. Remus could feel his lungs bursting the deeper he got, but he could also see the cup get clearer and he forced himself to kick a little harder so he could reach it. And then the gold light went out.

In the sudden darkness of the water, he first felt the panic set in.

Then, Remus felt the hands. They reached out to him, but their nails were sharp and he felt fingers latch around his throat, clenching. The light appeared again, abruptly, but he found no source to the hands though they kept squeezing. His eyes darted back to the cup, and he almost screamed, before he remembered that he was underwater.

Lying at the bottom of the pond, limp, his skin pallid and blue, one bloated hand covering the handle of the cup, was Sirius. Remus wanted to swim over to him; to check his pulse, to kiss his cold lips; to drag him to the surface so he could breathe again. But he was frozen in place.

And he couldn’t breathe. Remus tried to kick his legs, or reach for Sirius, but he found he couldn’t do either. The invisible hands were still strangling him, and black spots started to appear and Remus wanted nothing more than to breathe, but breathing was only possible if Sirius was next to him and Sirius wasn’t next to him.

Sirius was dead.

The panic flared up inside of him. It consumed him and he screamed, despite the fact that he knew the water would invade his mouth and force its way down his throat if he did. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? Sirius was gone.

It was only as he gave in to the anguish, to the terribleness overwhelming him, that Remus felt Sirius hold him. One last time.

Or maybe it was Death's icy grip.

**oOo**

The bubbles disappeared and Sirius wasted no time in jumping in after him. There was no hesitation. He didn't even bother to take his clothes off.

The coldness of the water was a shock to him, and his body took a moment to adjust to the freezing suffocation as the lake wrapped around him. Sirius couldn't even see Remus in these murky depths, but he could see the gold light and he could only hope that this was what Remus had set his sights on.

He swam towards it, pressing on even as the water turned heavy. There was only a moment for the relief to course through his body when he saw Remus, floating at the bottom. But it was quick to morph into fear.

He wasn't moving. Sirius kicked his legs faster, and he reached for him as soon as he was close enough. Remus' lips were open, and his eyes were only a slip of white. His hair was dancing and it scared him more than it should because it was the only part of Remus that was moving. Even his chest was still.

Sirius wrapped an arm around his torso, clutching him tight to his body, and it was as he was about to kick off the lake bed to get back to the surface (his oxygen was fast running out) that something caught his eye. The gold light.

He turned to it. His grip on Remus faltered, but he was quick to readjust it. Sirius stretched out and grabbed the cup, and it was when he moved that he felt the jab in his hip.

_His wand._

He didn't have time to thank Merlin that he'd kept his clothes on, as he retrieved his wand, shooting a jet out of the end of it into the bottom of the lake. They went flying upwards.

Sirius held Remus tighter, the prayer repeating itself in his head over and over. The cup in his other hand was cold.

_Please be alive. Please be alive._

They broke the surface with enough momentum to fly them to the moon but they landed instead on the banking, under the moonlight and watchful stars.

Sirius threw the cup to the side, and he didn't even bother drying himself or extricating his body from his wet clothes. He kneeled beside Remus, frantic and shaking as he rolled him onto his back. It took a moment, after he started thumping his chest, to realise he was crying.

He muttered, though the words were more pleas and broken sobs, "Remus. Remus, please. Come back to me. Come back to me. _I need you-"_

But Remus' chest didn't move. His hair was stuck to his face, his eyelashes congealed. His eyes were closed now, and his lips were sealed. There was nothing to suggest he had ever lived at all, and Sirius felt himself grow erratic. He pounded Remus' chest, begging him under his breath to come back to him, clenching his eyes shut as he put all of his strength into it; every last shred of will.

Remus remained cold and blue, under the starlight, and Sirius' hands slipped. He dropped his forehead to rest on Remus' unmoving chest, wishing the sob that choked him would catch in his throat and block off his lungs. His hands clenched into fists and he punched the ground, unable to feel the pain but hearing the crack of bones.

Remus heaved.

Sirius shot back, and he had to wipe his hair from his wet face, watching as Remus swung up, coughing. He was still blue and deathly, but he was alive and Sirius launched himself at him. He held him so tightly that Remus spluttered, dribbling water down his back. Not that Sirius cared. He just clutched him closer.

 _"You're alive,"_ breathed Sirius. Remus' harsh and ragged breaths were loud in his ears. "Merlin, if you'd have-"

He didn't finish, just closed his eyes. But Remus seemed to know anyway, for he tangled his fingers in the sopping material of his shirt.

Sirius only pulled back when he felt Remus start trembling violently, and he reached for his wand with numb fingers to dry their clothes and cast warming charms. He helped Remus to his feet, and as the other boy redressed, Sirius approached the cup.

He stared at it, lying by his feet. All of that for Voldemort. He'd nearly lost Remus for a bit of old metal and a deranged piece of soul trapped inside it.

Remus came to stand beside him. He said, voice hoarse, "That's got to be it."

Sirius hummed in agreement. They both looked at it.

"It's evil," Remus continued. "I can feel it. I can see it as well. It's so... dark. It's like radiation, or smoke, everywhere."

Sirius hadn't even noticed it, but his bones felt denser, like they were made of something more substantial than just dead stars. He breathed in, before he swooped down and picked the cup up.

He swung it round his finger and said, "It's damn ugly is what it is. Something Mother would put on the mantelpiece and only use to drink the blood of a human sacrifice from during special occasions."

Remus didn't laugh, but he leaned his head on Sirius' shoulder, curving into him. Sirius was too surprised to move, and he didn't miss the shaky inhalation Remus made when he breathed him in.

He said softly, "We need to find Hermione."

"I know," murmured Remus, and he moved away.

Sirius' entire body felt cold but he shrugged it off, feigning a grin, as they made their silent way back to the house.

They walked as fast as they could, all things considered, and the door slammed closed behind them when they got inside.

_“Merlin!”_

Their eyes shot to the staircase, to find James clutching a hand to his heart, paused mid-descent, and Peter slightly further down. Sirius waved the cup in the air, and James’ eyes widened. He let out a disbelieving laugh. Even Peter couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face.

James ran the rest of the way down the stairs, narrowly skirting past Peter, who pressed himself into the bannister, and skipping steps. He stopped when he was stood directly in front of Sirius, tipping his head back and whooping. Sirius and Remus shared a perturbed but euphoric look.

“What on _earth_ -?”

Hermione’s voice cut through the scene, and they all turned to her. No explanation was needed however, for when her eyes fell on the cup, her lips parted. She looked at Remus.

“You found it?”

He smiled slightly and said, “Yeah, we did.”

Hermione launched herself at him, running across the entryway to wrap her arms around his neck. Sirius made an indignant noise, and she stretched one hand out to drag him closer, where she looped an arm around his back too.

“As touching as this is,” drawled Avery, and the three of them separated at the abrupt sound of his voice. “We’re already behind schedule. The others will start to think something bad has happened if we don’t destroy that thing and send the message soon.”

Sirius shot him a scathing glare. “I’m fairly sure a few seconds won’t send them over the edge.”

Hermione pulled back from them both, swallowing, and said, “Avery’s right. Let’s destroy it.”

It took them a few minutes. They formed a line, standing with their shoulders touching, facing the cup which Sirius had place on the floor in front of them. It looked so small and dirty, so insignificant. She remembered destroying it the first time round, in the Chamber of Secrets, with Ron by her side. She heard his voice, deep and encouraging; loud because he knew she could do it.

Hermione closed her eyes, hating the way it hurt. Avery, stood on her left, shifted slightly but he didn’t look at her. He said, “Who’s going to do it then?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Remus?” questioned Sirius quietly, glancing at the boy next to him but he didn’t get an immediate reply. Remus stared at the cup, haunted eyes fixed on the gold glimmer of it, and when he blinked next, Sirius’ dead and placid body flashed on the underside of his lids. He shook his head.

Sirius frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll do it,” said Peter. He stepped forward, raising his wand and the horcrux seemed to quiver. He only faltered slightly.

The cup seeped a black fog, and Hermione stepped back out of instinct as it snaked across the floor, curling around their ankles. She said, “Careful Peter.”

He didn’t seem fazed. He continued forward, face stoic, not even trembling. He didn’t falter when the fog poured out, he didn’t falter when Sirius inhaled sharply as the fog twisted up in front of them, like a thick black cloud, writhing and reshaping.

Peter only faltered when the smoke smoothed over, and James stared down at him with cold and cruel eyes. The real James choked.

“Hello Peter,” said the horcrux smoothly. Peter froze, mutely horrified, and the horcrux-James grinned. The emotion was razor sharp. “ _You’re_ the one nominated to destroy me? You can’t even peel an orange. You have to ask me to do it. What makes them think, what makes _you_ think, that you can do something as important as this without fucking it all up?”

Hermione’s skin crawled. James’ usually beautiful aristocrat voice was tainted and it spat the words out, malicious and unfeeling. Despite the fact that she knew it wasn’t him, it still unnerved her. She had never witnessed James be this cold, this merciless, this heartless.

Peter was stood still, staring at the floor. His face, or the part of his face that Hermione could see, was blank, but she still caught the tear rolling down his cheek. The real James looked at a loss for what to do, visibly disturbed at the sight of himself.

“You really think you’re worthy enough to be my friend?” the horcrux asked, laugh lacing his voice. “Is that a joke, Wormtail? How could you ever think that? How could you ever think you’re strong enough to destroy Voldemort? Everyone’s surprised to see you’ve lasted so long. They all thought your pitiful fear would’ve had you grovelling at the Dark Lord’s feet by now.” Horcrux-James snarled. “Begging for mercy for your fucking useless soul.”

“He’s _lying,_ ” roared Sirius, but Peter didn’t seem to hear him. “James! Tell him it’s not true!”

But as he looked at James, he noticed he was pale, helpless. Sirius’s breathing was uneven and he could only turn back and watch.

Horcrux-James smirked vindictively, as if he knew that the battle was won. He said loftily, “You’re nothing. You’re nothing to me. You’re nothing to the world.” He raised his voice. “Do you hear me Peter? You’re _nothing_ to me-”

“No,” whispered Peter. He raised his eyes to the horcrux-James, who tilted his head in puzzlement. His shock at being interrupted was palpable. Peter said, louder this time, “You’re lying. James is proud to be my friend.”

And the fire was hot and lethal as it burst from the tip of his wand, devouring the cup like a ravenous beast. The horcrux screamed, and James was torn apart, dissipating; the wispy darkness reforming and groping for an escape. There wasn’t one.

The cup exploded.

There was a light, bright and excruciating, blinding them all, and a wind, so fierce they were blown back a few feet. Sirius’ hand shot out and he grabbed Hermione’s as she was forced backwards. She held it tightly, clinging to it so she could stay upright. Eyes squinting against the ferocious avalanche, Hermione sought out her bag, needing the box she’d brought with her to trap the cup. She found Peter on his knees, gripping the loose floorboards, and Remus shielding his eyes from the harshness of the light, still standing probably only due to his werewolf strength.

Her eyes snagged, and she watched James, as his hair was whipped around his face and he narrowed his eyes against the brightness. Vaguely, Hermione wondered whether bringing him here was such a good idea, and she remembered that morning when she’d tried to warn them of the consequences. They’d heard none of it, of course.

_"If this is going to destroy Voldemort, we're coming," Lily had said firmly. When Hermione opened her mouth to argue, she said fiercely, "Hermione, you cannot deny us that!"_

And it turned out, she couldn’t deny them it.

But now, as she watched him, she couldn’t help but think of Lily, waiting somewhere for the signal, possibly already dead or caught. _No_. She wasn’t dead.

_Not yet, anyway._

“ _Hermione!”_ Avery shouted, and his voice was torn and ripped by the wind engulfing them. It was enough to draw her attention and she looked over at him, fighting against the force of the hurricane tearing up the room.

He cocked his head, nodding to something. Hermione frowned, following it, and her eyes caught on her beaded bag. Without missing a second, she wrenched her hand from Sirius (who grappled to regain his hold on her) and dived. Her fingers wrapped around the strap, and she pulled it open, launching her arm deep into it. Hermione reached around frantically, whispering to herself, willing for her fingers to touch the box but she couldn’t find it. The heat from the fiendfyre licked at her skin, promising to devour her or melt her skin off her bones.

_And she still couldn’t find the damn box-_

“HERMIONE!” Avery roared, but she just shook her head, hating the panic that welled up inside of her and made it impossible for her to think straight. Sweat dripped down her face.

“Come on!” she muttered desperately. “Come on! Come on, come on, _come on-!”_

Her hand closed around the small box. With a relieved yell, Hermione dragged it out and she didn’t hesitate in snapping it open. The horcrux continued to scream and the cup skidded about, whizzing across the floor, jittery and wild, as it tried to get away. But it was futile, and it zoomed towards her, not stopping at Sirius’ confused shout, before it jumped in the box. Hermione slammed the lid down, locking it in.

The wind dropped. The light went out. They all stumbled, thrown off by the sudden nothingness.

Hermione tipped her head back in relief, eyes closed. The box twitched in her hand, but she paid it no attention. They’d done it. They’d destroyed the cup.

They barely had time to bask in the undulating relief, however, for Remus collapsed to the floor, wailing in pain. Sirius called his name, falling to his knees beside him in a second. The concern was heavily etched into every line and crease of his face.

Hermione watched, shocked, as Remus heaved himself up, panting harshly. His eyes were wide and frantic, golden, and he rasped, “The werewolves.”

She didn’t need him to elaborate. None of them did, really. The dread settled deep in their bones, weighing them down. Hermione felt like she’d swallowed lead when Remus said:

_“The werewolves are coming.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I decided to split this one into two chapters because there was so much to cover, and it made more sense to do it properly over more words than try cram it into one long chapter so I apologise profusely for the cliff-hanger! Another reason this chapter took so long, and is split in two, is because I’ve actually started focusing on writing my own original novel. I’ve just finished Chapter Two and I’m so so proud!!! It’s not as good as my fanfiction, but hopefully it will be once I get further into it!!
> 
> Thank you guys for your support. We’ve been through a lot together and I just wanted to say that I love and appreciate every single one of you! I hope this was worth the wait!
> 
> Yours, Everliah


	88. Chapter 88- The Werewolves

** Chapter 88- The Werewolves **

 

“A diary?” Marlene said, holding the book up. She didn’t look impressed.

They were stood on top of a small hill, squinting against the wind that flew past them.

This was their location. Trees pooled around them, trapping them on this barren island. The diary had felt heavy to Lily, sinister and odd, but Marlene waved it about like it was nothing more than litter, like it wasn't the only thing standing between their life and death.

Lily snorted, looking up from her watch.

Marlene continued, "I mean, a _diary?!_ A fucked up one at that. _This_ is a piece of Voldemort’s soul?”

“It’s not exactly what I expected either,” she replied, checking the time again.

Marls shook her head, clicking her tongue in disgust. “Even _I_ don’t keep a diary.”

Lily just shrugged.

"What was he, twelve?"

"On a crazy scale of one to ten, maybe," replied Lily. She tore her eyes away from her watch once more. "Hermione said he was sixteen."

Marlene mulled this information over, then said flippantly, "I wonder whether he was hot."

Lily grimaced, shooting her friend a look that clearly showed her disgust at this turn of their conversation. She pursed her lips at Marlene's peeling laughter and said, almost reluctantly, "Apparently he was... erm, rather good looking."

"Good looking, eh?" Marlene raised an eyebrow. Lily narrowed her eyes. "How good looking are we talking? Sexy-good looking or just not ugly?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Lily questioned.

A vindictive smirk curled Marlene's lips and she said, "Imagine being the one to take Voldemort's virginity."

Lily couldn't even contain her horror now and she loudly gagged, snapping her eyes away from the surrounding hills to Marlene.

"Doing to do with You-Know-Who-"

"Oh god, _no!"_ Lily shook her head, and a revolted but amused laugh escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Whilst Marlene howled with laughter, Lily checked her watch again, for what had to be the hundredth time in the past five minutes, and a small crease appeared between her eyebrows at the time.

She said, "Shouldn't we have gotten a signal by now? Or at least, _some_ word to let us know they’re alright?"

Marlene sobered up, but not entirely. She didn't appear too concerned.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "It will take as long as it takes, I guess. No point worrying your tits off."

And though Lily tried not to, the frown remained. She didn't like to worry; her mother used to say that worrying showed on a lady's face and the more she worried, the quicker she aged. It made sense, Lily acknowledged. Although only twenty-one, she felt about fifty. Can your soul age outside of your body?

Lily didn't know, and frankly she could care less about the lines of her face. James was there, and the worry in her heart was pounding for him. She didn't know what she'd do without James. He had become her lifeline, her tether; the only thing keeping her sane. She would go out of her mind if she lost him.

She thought of Harry, her darling Harry, who was currently being looked after by Augusta. She imagined him growing up alone, without a mother or father, and her entire body clenched. She wouldn't let that happen; _she couldn't._

Harry Potter would grow up loved and cherished, like he deserved. Lily and James would live. They had to.

**oOo**

Remus' spine arched, his bones dislocating and shifting beneath his skin. A savage snarl escaped his lips, and Sirius paused in his position on the floor beside him. Hermione and Avery shared a perturbed glance. There was no expression on his face (there never was), but the panic and worry in his eyes did not go unnoticed by her.

Remus stilled suddenly. He was panting, eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Go," he rasped. Sirius stared at him. His eyes flew open. _"Go!"_

"We're not leaving you," urged Sirius.

Peter just watched in silence. James looked ragged, like a part of him wanted to run and fight but the bigger part of him, the one made up of Sirius and Peter and Remus, knew that wasn’t even an option, so he stayed still.

"Sirius is right," said Avery, much to everyone's surprise. He shrugged off Hermione's shocked eyes, meeting them unaffectedly. "There's no point leaving him to the werewolves. We're going to struggle enough without giving them another fighter."

"He wouldn't fight us!" Sirius fumed, whipping round to glare at Avery.

Avery didn't seem fazed. He said stonily, "Really? So you're telling me he's never attacked, or even tried to attack, any of you as a werewolf?"

Sirius pursed his lips. Hermione averted her eyes to stare at her feet.

Peter said, "Lock him up."

Four pairs of eyes fell on him. Remus whimpered on the floor but whether it was from the suggestion or the pain that racked his body, they didn't know, nor did they question.

James asked, trying to bite back his horror at the mere notion, “What?”

“Lock him up,” repeated Pete. He didn’t even hesitate. Hermione shared a look with Sirius, and she could see the protest flaming in his eyes. She waited to hear what Peter had to say, and he seemed to realise this for he directed his explanation at her. “Remus wouldn’t want to be left to lose control. And if you leave him to try and fight this, he will, and then some people might get hurt. He’d tell you to lock him up. He’d tell you to stop him even if it killed him. This is what he would want.”

Remus wailed, a sob being torn from his throat, and he contorted again. It was like his entire body was being set on fire, and he was whining continuously. His heels dug into the wooden floorboards as though he hoped it would be enough to tie him to reality, lest he lose all control left in his feeble body.

“ _Please_ ,” he moaned. His eyes cracked open, but they were slits, and the agony in them poured through. He stared at Hermione, and she froze in place at the plea he looked at her with when he gritted out, “D-do it.”

She swallowed, every part of her body protesting, but the desperation he regarded her with, and the mere fact that he trusted her enough to let her do it, caused her to close her eyes.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. Sirius’ head shot to her, and the outrage was etched deep into his face, his furious eyes burnt her skin. Hermione ignored him. Louder this time, she said, “Okay. James, you help Sirius carry him. We’ll find somewhere, but we need to hurry.”

James gulped once, but he didn't hesitate in doing as she said. He rushed to Remus, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist so he could drag him to his feet. Remus arched his back, gritting his teeth but a pained hiss still managed to escape. He started to snarl, lip curling, and Hermione noticed Avery slipping his wand into his hand.

When Remus stumbled and broke out into a quiet chorus of whimpers, Sirius cracked. He still looked more than unhappy with the plan, but he couldn't stand to see Remus in pain. He wrapped his arm snugly around the taller boy's waist, and between him and James, they managed to lift Remus up slightly so they could carry him.

Heavy in her hands, Hermione became acutely aware of the box. It was still now, the Horcrux no longer trying to escape, and out of a curiosity she would otherwise tamper down, she cracked the lid open. The cup, mangled and blackened, was lifeless, and although she knew it was impossible, it looked like it had died screaming.

It was then that she remembered the plan. Without delaying another second, Hermione snapped the box shut, slipping her wand into her hand and said, _“Expecto Patronum.”_

The light that burst from the end of her wand was faded, flickering in and out of existence because her happy memory _(the one of Avery in a field of flowers, saying, "There it is." The one where he cocked his head, cigarette smoking between his lips, and her frown of puzzlement creasing the space between her eyebrows before he carried on. "I've missed that. It's like watching the sunrise, watching you smile.")_ was buffering in her mind.

The snake was pretty when it formed in front of her, like some poisonous flower. It curled round to look at her, with big white eyes, waiting for her command. Hermione just stared at it, numbed to silence. She wasn’t sure when it must’ve changed, or why, though she could think of a few reasons and none of them appeased her.

“The cup is destroyed,” Hermione told it, shaking off her unease. “Your turn.”

She said Caradoc’s name, and the snake dropped its head in a nod, tongue flicking out, before it left through the wall. She watched it go, eyes lingering on the place it disappeared even after it had gone.

It took Hermione a moment to realise they were all staring at her. She ignored Avery’s eyes, shocked and questioning. James watched at her cautiously, but she didn’t meet any of their gazes. She knew what they would ask, and frankly, Hermione didn’t have the answers.

She exhaled loudly, and said, "I don't know where-"

"I do," said Avery, eyes cutting to her and back. Hermione nodded, but didn’t look at him just yet. Her cheeks felt like they were burning, hot like the tip of the cigarette that she envisioned resting between Avery’s pink lips. She cleared her throat, raising her chin. "It's in one of the rooms we checked, back through here. A wardrobe, big one. We can ward it."

He motioned to the large living room he and Hermione had come from, but he didn't move. Avery watched her. Hermione stared at him, and she knew there was not much choice. From the sounds Remus was emitting, they didn't have long to hide him, and God only knew how long they had until the werewolves would be upon them.

She nodded, and although James and Sirius shared a look, they followed Avery regardless. Peter glanced at them, before bringing up the rear.

"And keep up," drawled Avery, without looking over his shoulder. "Don't want the werewolves picking you off from the back."

"Insensitive prick," murmured James. He nudged his glasses back up his nose, where they'd slipped from the sweat dripping down his forehead.

Sirius glowered at Avery's back. He was puffing slightly, but whether it was from having to support Remus' weight, or from irritation, she couldn't tell.

“Can I kill him?” said Sirius.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”

A noise, one that resembled a whine, escaped his throat. “Not just a little bit?”

_“No.”_

“How can you kill someone ‘just a little bit’?” Peter asked curiously. Hermione frowned at him, eyes warning him not to encourage the other man more than he had to.

Sirius’ lips curled into a grim but vindictive smirk. His canines shone as he said, “I’d be more than willing to demonstrate.”

She thwacked his arm, and he craned his body away from her. James snickered, eyebrows raising in amusement, and Sirius had the audacity to look offended.

A short breath of air escaped Remus’ lips and his head lolled against Sirius’ shoulder, who grew suddenly very solemn.

"You know I wouldn't lock him up if I didn't-" Hermione began, feeling the sharp need to explain.

Sirius cut her off shortly. "I know."

They passed through many rooms, the same ones Hermione had searched just an hour ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. She realised she mustn't have really been paying attention before, for she didn't recognise most of them. She couldn't even remember seeing a wardrobe big enough to contain a werewolf, and she was suddenly very grateful for Avery's presence. Even if he was an insensitive prick.

Avery finally stopped in what seemed to be the other side of the house, after they'd squeezed through doorway after doorway and delved deeper into the warren that was Wools Orphanage.

He inhaled deeply, turning to face them. They stopped.

The wardrobe was towering, scraping the ceiling, and it took up most of the room. It was as wide as it was tall, with dark, wooden doors and spindly legs. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and although she knew that Remus had requested this, the thought of locking him up, like some rabid animal, made her feel sick to her stomach. Avery felt no such weight on his conscience, for he moved forwards, opening the doors.

The inside was spacious, and empty; Remus would fit easily enough and still have room to breathe. That sated her a little, but not much. Especially not when Avery transfigured the hangers into thick cuffs, before conjuring a long, metal chain that clunked when it hit the floor. Sirius stiffened beside her. Even Remus seemed to hesitate at the sight of the chains.

Once satisfied, Avery stepped back and looked at them. No one moved. Sirius’ grip on Remus tightened.

Avery sighed, but didn’t make any other noise to provoke the other man. Hermione watched them both wearily, before she said, “The werewolves will be here soon.”

“Will those keep him in?” asked Peter, eyeing the restraints with a certain sense of misgiving. Avery glanced down at the chains in his hands, jangling them about.

He said, “It’s not keeping him in that will be the problem.”

Hermione looked at him, and the feeling of dread returned. She cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said, and her voice seemed to shock the silence and echo around the room. They all looked at her. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Although Sirius didn’t seem to want to let go of him, Remus detangled himself from the both of them. He could barely support his poor, broken body, and each step had him wincing in pain, but he shrugged off Sirius’ helping hands when the latter moved forward again. He limped the short distance, pausing only for a second before he stepped into the wardrobe. He turned to face them, and held his arms up.

Avery locked him in, cuffing his wrists in the manacles. He kept his eyes on his hands, only looking at Remus when he was finished to say gravely, “I’m sorry.”

Remus stared at him, before he said, “It’s okay.”

Avery lowered his eyes but nodded, and he stepped back. From the shadows of the wardrobe, Remus looked at them.

“It’s not for long,” said Sirius, and he sounded choked, like he might cry, but his face was as cold as stone.

Remus smiled, but the gesture was pained and forced. He nodded, “I know.”

The smile did nothing to calm their hearts, and they each felt their bodies jolt as Avery closed the doors on him, sliding the chain through the handles. He tapped it with his wand, muttering a spell, and the chain tightened, locking in place. The room was engulfed in silence and it was jarring to think that Remus was still there, just locked on the other side of the wardrobe doors.

Hermione swore she could hear his heart beating through the wood, feel it in her own chest.

The howl cut through the silence, splintering the walls and cutting through each of them.

James let out a shaky breath of air. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, face white, when he said:

"They're here. The werewolves are here."

**oOo**

Benjy's head slumped in his hands.

It wasn't often that he was so unfocused on a mission, but they'd been sat there for hours and it seemed like a signal was never going to come.

"I'm sure if we sleep, we'll get the signal when we wake up," said Benjy, only half-joking.

Caradoc, ever the vigilant soldier, shot him a frown. He was pacing, back and forth, along the stretch of a hill they had apparated to. They were in Scotland somewhere, off the main shore, at a little island Benjy had visited as a child.

Although not terribly sentimental, the place had stood out in his mind as a top contender for 'Places The Darkest Wizard Of All Time Wouldn't Think To Look." And so, that ranking alone sealed the deal.

"They must've had some problem at the Orphanage," said Caradoc. "That's the only explanation. I _told_ her I should've gone with them-!"

"Yeah, and she told you that she didn't trust you enough to bring you along," Benjy countered reasonably.

Caradoc looked at him, exasperated and defensive. "She didn't say that."

"Okay," Benjy acknowledged. "Maybe it wasn't word perfect but it was near enough. Caradoc, man, you left us... For months. We thought you were dead- _we grieved you!_ You can't expect everything to be all hunky dory after that."

Caradoc stared at him, eyes steady. He almost sighed and closed them, but he dropped them to look at his feet instead.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know I was wrong-"

"To run off and play happy families?" Benjy supplied, then he deflated. "Listen, I know how nice it must've been to pretend everything was dandy and nice. I'd kill for that feeling. Hell, I _am_ killing for that feeling. It's just... The Caradoc I know would never've run away."

"Well I did hit my head," he murmured, rubbing the back of his head absently.

Benjy laughed. There was no animosity in the lines of his face, or the curls that had started to spring back along his hairline. "Bet the nurses had their work cut out for them with you. Must've been pretty damn hard to keep you away from fighting."

Caradoc felt a small smile pull at his lips. It was at that moment that the light burst from the forest, gliding through the trees. He spun around, wand raised. He didn't recognise the snake, but he recognised the voice:

_"The cup is destroyed,” Hermione told them. “Your turn.”_

**Your turn.**

There was a split second where they shared a look, before Benjy jumped to his feet. He pulled the box out of his inside pocket, heard the locket rattle inside.

He paused, eyes cutting to Caradoc. He raised an eyebrow.

Caradoc's jaw clenched and he dropped his head in a nod.

Benjy opened the box.

The locket did nothing, just laid there silently. The two men frowned at each other, and Benjy faltered ever so slightly, before the locket screeched. It shot out of the box, landing on the ground and skidding away from them. Caradoc fired spells after it, erratically, trying to pin it down. The fire streamed from his wand, roaring and bright, scorching the grass as it licked a trail down the hill.

Benjy sprang after it, and he tried to light it up himself. The locket hissed back at them, mocking their efforts, until the fire engulfed it and it started screaming. It went up in flames, and the smog seemed to block out the sky. Caradoc and Benjy looked at each other, as the wind started up but it dropped at the same time that the horcrux stopped. The silence seemed to resonate through the atmosphere, and Benjy let out a low whistle as the sunlight pierced the fog.

“Hermione didn’t say it would do _that_.”

**oOo**

"That's something I thought I'd never hear," remarked Avery casually, though there was a tension to his shoulders.

He glanced at the wardrobe, and pulled at the chains. They didn't even give. He nodded once, before turning on his heel and heading back in the direction they came.

James and Peter were quick to follow his lead, though their eyes darted to the wardrobe as they left.

"Will the chains be enough?" queried Sirius quietly. He didn’t move an inch.

Hermione hesitated. Before she followed, she drew her wand and cast as many wards as she could remember over the wardrobe, satisfied only when the magic became stifling in the room and threatened to suffocate them.

She spun around and ran.

They heard a clunk from behind them, and cries, and Sirius stopped, body yearning to run back and free the tortured soul they'd just locked up. His entire being wavered.

Hermione noticed, and she came back to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sirius looked at her, eyes tearful and burning. She saw herself reflected in their darkness and wondered how she could look so cold yet so soft at the same time.

She didn't say anything, just took his hand and dragged him along behind her, jogging so they could catch up with the others. Hermione had no idea where they were going, but they dipped in and out of rooms and corridors, hot on Avery's trail as he led them back through the Orphanage.

There was a scuffle. A bang.

But it didn’t come from behind them. Avery stopped, and the rest of them followed his lead.

“Please tell me that was you Pete,” said James quietly.

Peter looked at him incredulously. “How could it be me if I’m stood right next to you?”

A whoosh of air escaped James and he muttered, “Didn’t think so.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but a howl cut her silent. They all stared ahead of them.

Without hesitating, Hermione reached and grabbed hold of Avery’s hand, turning on her heel and dragging him after her. They made it to the opposite end of the corridor before she looked back.

Peter, James and Sirius were staring at her, glued to the spot.

“Well? What are you waiting for? _Run.”_

And they did.

Hermione pulled Avery round the corner, and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. She was relieved when she couldn’t hear the clatter of footsteps behind them, and thanked God that the boys had had the sense not to follow them. If this army really _was_ an army, then they had better odds hiding than trying to fight their way out of this.

Avery’s hand in hers was tight and cold and he didn’t let go as they sped up the stairs and along corridor after corridor. Hermione only stopped when the stitch in her side became searing and she found that no amount of oxygen would appease it. She paused for breath, doubling over.

Avery looked back at her, “Are you coming?”

“Hang on,” she panted.

From the floor below, there was an almighty crash as the door was ricocheted off its hinges. Hermione felt her heart pounding against her chest, and the howl that echoed through the Orphanage threatened to shatter her ribs. She remembered what she had done the last time she had been in this position.

In a moment of pure impulsiveness, in which she probably should’ve thought more about what she was about to do, Hermione cupped her hands to her mouth... and howled.

Avery's head shot to her. He marched over, ripping her hands away from her face and demanded in a dangerously low voice, “What… the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

His breath spat against her cheeks, hot and livid. Hermione didn’t even flinch, even though his hands were tightening around her wrists.

“In my own time, I had to save my friends from a werewolf,” she told him. “The werewolf only responds to the call of its own kind-!”

“ _Singular_ , Hermione,” said Avery, through gritted teeth. He shook her slightly, but whether it was for emphasis or if he even realised he was doing it, she didn’t know. “That’s a key detail right there.”

“I told them I’d get them out of here alive,” she explained.

“What about me?” Avery demanded. He let go of her now, stepping back so that he could look at her. “Were you planning on getting _me_ out of here alive?”

Hermione shot him a scathing look and said, “Of course I was. But there’s a difference-”

 _“Where!?”_ he questioned incredulously.

She paused, licking her lips nervously and she had to force herself to meet his gaze.

“If it came to it,” she began slowly. “You would leave to save yourself. I’m not sure they would. Call it Gryffindor stupidity.”

This acknowledgement was met with silence. Then, Avery pointed out, “You’re a Gryffindor.”

Hermione tried to smile but it came out weak and more telling than anything else she had actually said to him. “Exactly.”

Before he could argue, or say anything else, she continued, “So that’s why I did it. I need to lead them here so that they don’t go after James, Sirius and Peter. So I howled.”

He looked at her for a second, and she knew that _he_ knew that she was adamantly avoiding the question.

“You’re leading an army of werewolves after us,” he summed up. Then, he said, in a low and bewildered voice, as if trying to understand the cause of her madness, “And you thought this was a good idea?”

Hermione drew her wand and sliced it across her open palm. She winced slightly, and Avery recoiled at the sight of her blood bubbling to the surface. There wasn’t much of it but she hoped it would be enough. She smeared it on the wall.

Avery stared at her. Realising, he’d asked her a question, Hermione opened her mouth to reply but Avery grabbed her wrist, dragging her hand to him so that he could try and heal the cut. Hermione pulled her arm back and shrugged.

“Not at all. I thought it was a terrible idea.”

“Then _why_ did you do it?” He demanded.

“Whilst objectively terrible, it was still the best option.”

Avery stared at her silently for a few more moments before he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Hermione just watched him, as he eventually brought himself to look at her. He didn’t seem amused or impressed by her actions, and said, “You’re going to kill me, woman.”

She felt the grin spread across her face and tried to stifle it. He scowled though and she knew she was unsuccessful. It didn’t deter her. Hermione reached out and took his hand, laughing when he grimaced at the sticky feel of her blood.

Avery pulled his hand away, and before she could question it, he pointed his wand at his own palm, wincing slightly when the cut split his skin and blood oozed from the wound. Hermione tried to protest but he just said, “Now we’re equally bait. Plus, they’ll probably prefer my blood to yours.”

When her eyes narrowed, Avery added, “The prejudice is thicker in me. I imagine it tastes sweeter too.”

 He took her hand again and pulled her into a run along the corridor. There was a bang from below and it spurred them into running faster.

“’Though this be madness, yet there is method isn't,’” he recited carefully.

Hermione huffed, tugging on his hand to try and make him move faster.

“There _is_ method,” she told him. “You just refuse to accept it.”

“You’re using us as live bait for an entire army of werewolves,” Avery reminded her incredulously. “That is _all_ madness!”

**oOo**

Benjy’s Labrador patronus bounded towards them, and Frank and Alice jolted up from where they were sat on the floor of an abandoned building. The house, though currently under renovation, was one where Alice had lived as a toddler, and they’d been sitting on the empty wooden boards, holding hands in silence, for hours.

It was only when the white Labrador leaped into the room that they finally broke the silence. Alice grabbed the box from beside them, and there was a moment between where she looked at Frank and Frank stared back at her with grave eyes that were, for all intent and purposes, out of place on his young and free-spirited face. He offered her a smile, and Alice let herself smile back and it was like unleashing the sun after it had been stolen by the clouds.

He released the fire, if only for the light in Alice’s eyes, and the horcrux screamed as it died. The ring was only small, but the smoke it erupted was clogging, thick and viscous. They left the box in the empty room, lid closed, still oozing fog.

The ring was gone.

Three down. Two more to go.

**oOo**

Although they tried not to look behind them too much, Hermione couldn’t help but take notice of the increasingly empty corridors they were leaving behind. They had slowed to a brisk walk now, as, after a while of running, they realised there was no point in over-exerting themselves.

“Why aren’t they following us?” she questioned urgently.

Avery glanced at her over his shoulder and shrugged. He didn’t appear overly concerned. “Maybe they’re not hungry.”

She glared cuttingly at him, though he didn’t see. Hermione looked behind her again, and chewed at the inside of her cheek. She swallowed, then howled again.

Avery whipped around, and he brought them to a stop. He stared down at her stonily, his dark eyes searing, his lips a hard line. Their hands were still bleeding, though the cut had congealed slightly. Hermione said, “It wasn’t working.”

“You don’t poke the sleeping dragon with the stick if you failed to wake him the first time, Granger!”

“You do if that very same dragon is the difference between your friends living or dying,” she countered. There was no room for negotiation, her voice told him that, and he clenched his jaw, lowering his eyes.

“I don’t see why you are so desperate to die,” Avery said quietly.

Hermione looked at him in silence, though he didn’t raise his eyes to her.

“I’m not-”

Avery frowned. “Don’t lie to me.”

She didn’t know what to say to that so she said nothing at all.

“I didn’t get you that magic for you to just _waste_ it-” he began.

“I never asked for it,” said Hermione.

Now, he looked at her, and his face seemed to contort in pain. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

Her shoulders slumped and she asked exasperatedly, “What do you want me to be?

“I want you to act like you give a shit,” he said, spitting out every word and bringing his face closer to hers. Hermione stood her ground, though she hated seeing him like this. It reminded her of the Death Eater he was; of the fact that this face was the same face so many had seen before he had robbed them of their lives, that his eyes, which looked into her now with such fury and desperation, were the last empty sight they pleaded with when they begged him for their lives. Avery said, more calmly now, “I want you to pretend that you give a shit about any of us. About _me_ -”

“I do care about you-” said Hermione truthfully.

“Bullshit,” he spat. “If you did, you’d think about _me_ before thinking about yourself. You’d let _me_ be selfish and you’d live, instead of being a crazy bitch and getting yourself killed.”

“It’s not that crazy,” she murmured, and Avery was visibly caught off guard. He had expected some sort of screaming match from her, like she’d usually deal, but none came.

“What?”

“There’s-” Hermione felt the truth lodge in her throat, and the darkness around her soul tightened its clawed grip on her heart, squeezing tightly.

Avery softened his voice, his hand coming up to hold her arm. “Hermione-?”

A howl broke through the Orphanage. Hermione’s head shot to look at the other end of the corridor. She looked back at Avery, who was still staring at her expectantly, and said, “Looks like we woke the sleeping dragon.”

She moved around him, dragging him behind her. She could hear the thud of footsteps behind them, distant but getting closer, or maybe it was just the erratic pounding of her heart.

Avery pulled a face, and repeated incredulously, _“We?!”_

**oOo**

Lily looked up from her watch.

Her green eyes widened. Marlene straightened up, from her slumped and silent position on a rock at the sight of the Beagle puppy lolling towards them. They recognised Alice’s Patronus from a mile away, having seen it in practise and knowing the corporeal embodiment of her soul.

They looked at each other. Marlene laid the diary flat in her hands.

**oOo**

Remus dropped his forehead against the door of the wardrobe. The sweat pooled down his face, getting into his closed eyes and he tasted the salt on his tongue. He was panting. The spasms that racked his body were painful, even when he wasn't fighting against them, but he was trying his hardest to resist every prickling desire in his cells to transform. 

He couldn't hurt anybody today. He wouldn't. He didn't want to become a monster.

Another howl cut through the house, piercing the wooden doors, and Remus recognised the pitchy warble that could only belong to Hermione. He swore in Welsh, the whisper trickling from his wet, open lips. He hoped she knew what she was doing. She was playing with fire, and not even an open flame- a whole gasoline explosion. 

The door swung open suddenly, and if his wrists hadn't been attached to the pole, Remus would've tumbled head first out of the wardrobe. The light blinded him, for even with his tuned sight, he hadn't been able to see anything but pitch black for the last hour or so. 

Remus blinked, squinting at the figure stood before him. He tried to pull himself upright but the awkward twisting of his arms prevented him from doing so. Whoever it was pushed him back so he could regain his balance, and he caught a whiff of their familiar scent and froze.

Greyback growled, his voice deceptively low and silky, "What are you doing here, Pup? And why are you locked in a cupboard?"

**oOo**

“Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” James chanted, each word punctuated by the heavy footfalls as the three of them raced through the lower level of the house.

They hadn’t thought twice when Hermione had told them to run, although now they were wondering what had possessed them to split up when an army of werewolves had just landed on their doorstep.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sirius cried. “Will you _stop_ swearing!? You’re stressing me out!”

Peter looked at him incredulously, but the three of them carried on running. They could hear the breathing of their assailants behind them, the ravaging snarls of the wolves as they snapped their jaws and huffed promising threats.

James was the fastest runner of them all, what with years of Quidditch practise, and he sped ahead, sprinting to try and find a place they could hide. Sirius was hot on his heels, hair flying behind him. Peter was trying to keep up, but he kept stumbling over the rolls in the rug, and in the end, James slowed down so he could grab his hand and hoist him along.

They finally made it to the drawing room, barrelling through the double doors and sparing only a minute where they watched the group of ten or eleven wolves round the corner. They were all grown men, dressed in everyday clothes that had since become ripped and ragged. They were littered with scratches too, dribbling blood, which looked to have been obtained during their partial transformation. They were rabid.

They didn’t risk wasting another second. James and Sirius slammed the doors shut, pushing a heavy looking chest of drawers in the way before Peter cast a locking charm. Sirius flicked his wand and the other pieces of furniture loitering in the large room flew over to guard the entrance.

They stood back for a moment, in a silent line, staring at the doors. The first judder came from the first failed attempt to get in the room. There was an outraged growl, followed by another moment of poorly devised serenity. Then, another wolf must’ve launched itself at the double doors for they shuddered again. The chest of drawers creaked. They felt the magic fall on them, as anti-apparition wards drowned the house.

“Well, we’re fucked,” commented Sirius. James’ lips straightened. Peter looked grave.

They were surrounded. The wolves had come; they were on their doorstep… and they were _hungry_.

 

 

**AN: Soooooo…. I know I said that I was splitting the last chapter into two… Turns out I’m splitting it into three. I honestly never anticipated this mission taking so long!! But there’s still two more horcruxes to go, and the squad have somehow got to get out of this place! Oh dear…**

**I want to say thank you (I know I go on a lot) but I really appreciate you all taking the time to read this story. It means the absolute world to me and it’s baffling that _anyone_ could like something I write! So thank you! Hopefully when I finish writing my own book and try to publish it, I’ll find people as lovely and inspiring as you to read it!**

**Again, sorry for the late update. GCSE year sucks and I’ve been really tired lately. I’ve also been focusing on adding more Wolfstar moments to earlier chapters to make the Sirius/Remus pairing more believable. I haven’t quite finished yet, but I have added more moments (both subtle and obvious) that allude to a romance between these two, even before they both acknowledge it. Hopefully, that makes the pairing a little bit more complimentary to the events of the fic and not just a complete 360! It’s been really nice going back to writing mindless fluff because all this dark, war stuff gets really depressing sometimes (for obvious reasons, as I am a _horrible_ writer who enjoys killing off favourite characters or at least making them suffer).**

**Since we’re getting to the end now, I was just wondering if there was anything you guys specifically want to see before I finish the fic? If you have any fluffy moments or little bits you’d like to read before it all ends, just review or PM me:) I absolutely adore hearing what you have to say! But I warn you, I have an ending already planned out and nobody can change my mind! We will be seeing a familiar face… That is all I will say;)**

**Hope you are all well and life is treating you good! Gosh, I always feel like I’ve had a catch up session with a long lost friend after writing these Author’s Notes (which I promised I’d stop a long time ago… guess we saw how well that turned out.) Until next chapter… Toodle pip!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Soooooo…. I know I said that I was splitting the last chapter into two… Turns out I’m splitting it into three. I honestly never anticipated this mission taking so long!! But there’s still two more horcruxes to go, and the squad have somehow got to get out of this place! Oh dear…  
> I want to say thank you (I know I go on a lot) but I really appreciate you all taking the time to read this story. It means the absolute world to me and it’s baffling that anyone could like something I write! So thank you! Hopefully when I finish writing my own book and try to publish it, I’ll find people as lovely and inspiring as you to read it!  
> Again, sorry for the late update. GCSE year sucks and I’ve been really tired lately. I’ve also been focusing on adding more Wolfstar moments to earlier chapters to make the Sirius/Remus pairing more believable. I haven’t quite finished yet, but I have added more moments (both subtle and obvious) that allude to a romance between these two, even before they both acknowledge it. Hopefully, that makes the pairing a little bit more complimentary to the events of the fic and not just a complete 360! It’s been really nice going back to writing mindless fluff because all this dark, war stuff gets really depressing sometimes (for obvious reasons, as I am a horrible writer who enjoys killing off favourite characters or at least making them suffer).  
> Since we’re getting to the end now, I was just wondering if there was anything you guys specifically want to see before I finish the fic? If you have any fluffy moments or little bits you’d like to read before it all ends, just review or PM me:) I absolutely adore hearing what you have to say! But I warn you, I have an ending already planned out and nobody can change my mind! We will be seeing a familiar face… That is all I will say;)  
> Hope you are all well and life is treating you good! Gosh, I always feel like I’ve had a catch up session with a long lost friend after writing these Author’s Notes (which I promised I’d stop a long time ago… guess we saw how well that turned out.) Until next chapter… Toodle pip!


	89. Chapter 89

** Chapter 89 **

****

Greyback didn’t haste in undoing the cuffs that were starting to cut into Remus’ wrists. He just stood in front of him, staring with those grisly yellow eyes. He didn’t look like he’d been fighting, and Remus took a second to thank his lucky stars. All he could do was pray that his friends were okay, and try to lean back on his heels to alleviate the pain in his wrists.

“I’ll ask you again, pup,” drawled Greyback, and Remus lowered his eyes. Greyback spoke slowly and quietly. “Why aren’t you at the den?”

Remus swallowed thickly. Greyback heard.

He lifted up a sharp nail, dragged it down his cheek and Remus clenched his eyes shut. His breathing was heavy and he bit the inside of his mouth so it didn’t sound as scared as he felt. There was no point, though- Remus knew the Alpha could smell his scent on the air, could taste the fear.

“Answer me,” Greyback growled, and there was the hint of a threat both in his voice and the way he dug his nail in the soft skin along Remus’ cheekbone.

Remus sucked back a whimper. “I-” he began, whispering.

“What?” Greyback demanded, cupping Remus’ jaw and spreading his fingers wide so his hand spanned his cheek. “Take your tail from your legs and answer me, pup, before I am forced to jump to conclusions-"

“I wanted to come and fight!”

It burst out before he could bite it back, and the lie should’ve burnt his tongue but it was true for everything but context. Greyback seemed momentarily taken aback and his hand turned soft on his face. He ran the pad of his thumb back and forth along Remus’ jaw.

“You are young and inexperienced, pup. You could get yourself killed… Though I admire your foolhardiness.” Greyback regarded him for a moment. “Who locked you in this wardrobe?”

“One of-” Remus gulped, trying to recollect his thoughts as Greyback continued to stroke his cheek. “One of the wizards. I begged them for my life so they threw me in here instead.”

He hoped that Greyback would take the erratic beating of his heart as fear, as opposed to dishonesty. The wolf seemed to mull this over, regarding him with yellow eyes. Then, with a precariously blank expression, he reached up and tore the chains from Remus’ wrists.

The metal clanged and Remus winced, before his eyes grew wide at the fact that Greyback had managed to break through Hermione’s chains without so much as a struggle. Nevertheless, he didn’t ponder on it for very long, rubbing at his sore wrists fervently. Greyback stepped back and watched him.

He was hesitant to do magic in front of his Alpha, and so, Remus just let his wrists sting. The skin had been rubbed that violently by the metal cuffs during his partial transformation that it had blistered. He tried to hide any pain that he felt, especially under Greyback’s keen eyes.

“Normally, they’d kill you,” said Greyback. His voice was aloof, matter-of-fact, but Remus sensed the distrust behind it.

“They must’ve known I wasn’t supposed to be here,” he suggested feebly, staring at the floor. A howl cut through the house, followed by a loud bang, and Remus couldn’t stop himself from jumping. He prayed it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. His breaths shook.

Greyback inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and relishing in the fear that lay stagnant on the air.

“They’re young.”

“Oh,” said Remus. He didn’t know how else to reply. The caution he felt made his bones rigid.

“Your age, perhaps,” continued Greyback. “I can smell their _youth_. They reek of it.” He stopped suddenly. His yellow eyes locked on Remus’, and he leaned in close, lip curling over his canines as he spoke. His voice was slow and he said every word like he was tasting them, savouring the richness of them on his tongue. “Like you did… _When I first bit you.”_

Remus forgot how to function, and the horror crawled up his throat and lodged there. Greyback’s lips cracked into a sick smile, and the heat of his breath smothered Remus’ face. He sneered, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Remus didn’t follow; his heart was pounding so hard that he could hear the blood rushing to his head. His entire body throbbed painfully. Greyback realised only when he reached the door of the room, and he turned around, eyebrows raised.

“Aren’t you coming, Pup?” he asked mockingly. “I thought you wanted to fight?” Greyback’s lips twisted and he inhaled, shuddering with anticipation. Remus watched him torpidly, as his voice became a low growl, ravenous and _hopeful_. “I smelt him as soon as I stepped through the door, the young Black… He stinks of his father. I never got the chance to rip into him. Maybe I can have his son… The Dark Lord need not know… He wouldn’t mind if I _sampled_ a taste, especially after everything I’ve done for him…”

Remus was overtaken abruptly, and the incapacitation in his bones melted, replaced by something else, something much stronger. He didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe it was the repetitive thumping of his heart (or was that the banging coming from the other side of the house still? Were his friends there? Were they still alive?), maybe it was the revulsion that was still clawing up his arms-

He stumbled forward, numbly aware of the stinging of his wrists and the goosebumps on his skin, feeling his nails grow and sharpen. When he got close enough to Greyback, who was watching him in amusement, smirking like the devil, he brought his hand forward-

Greyback’s eyes widened, and the mirth drained from his face. His lips twitched.

“You shouldn’t bite children,” Remus said, voice trembling, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from fury or fear. “I am _not_ my father…” He felt the rancid heat from Greyback’s blood ooze over his fingers, which were embedded in his stomach. His hand shook violently. “And you will _not_ touch him.”

Remus twisted his hand and Greyback let out a pained gasp, but the sound was more shocked than anything. Something deep inside of him wrenched at the astonishment marring the Alpha’s scarred face, and he pulled his fingers from Greyback’s flesh and stepped back. He was shaking so much, and he could barely bring himself to look at the blood staining his skin red.

Greyback fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach. Remus could only stare at him, stunned at what he had just done. He felt his claws shrink back inside his skin, but the discomfort was insignificant. He couldn’t even feel the blisters on his wrists anymore.

“I-” Remus broke off, swallowing. His voice was weak and shaking. He didn’t even manage to finish his apology, but the regret was heavy between them. He shook his head numbly. “I didn’t-”

Greyback looked up, but the action was jilted, and seemed to take more effort than he made out. It was enough to silence any of Remus’ attempts. His yellow eyes flickered, and a drop of brown diluted them, making the wolf look momentarily human. In that second, Remus glimpsed the ghost of the man the wolf had devoured. When he opened his mouth to speak, dark blood dribbled from his lips, and he spat it out. Greyback stared at Remus and choked, “You won’t win this, Pup. There’s no way you can- win this.” He gritted his teeth against the pain, and Remus hated the way he had to swallow back a sob.

Greyback heard it anyway. He looked back up, and smiled, and it wasn’t malicious but jarring and odd on his dirty face. He managed to get out, “Wolves can’t fight without an Alpha, _Pup_ -”

He broke off, coughing and wheezing, and the blood bubbled through his closed lips. His hand clenched into a fist and he let out a human cry, full of terror and pain, before he fell forwards.

Remus stared down at him. In the next second, he had dropped to his knees beside Greyback’s body, rolling him onto his back. He didn’t know why he was crying, why the sounds he made were so full of anguish. Perhaps it was because he had just killed the only man who had ever understood what it was like…

What it was like to be a monster in a man’s world.

**oOo**

Lily swallowed. She didn't know why her hand was shaking so much, as she held her wand out.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Marlene, watching her. "Do it."

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The diary was nothing. It was small and the black leather had begun to tear, the lettering peeling. It was absolutely nothing to her.

But even she couldn't believe that lie.

This diary was everything. It was the thing that stood between her life and death. It was the thing that stood between _James'_ life and death. It was the thing that would determine whether her baby would live to see his first birthday.

Lily opened her eyes, and the fire burnt anew in them.

Harry would die one day. But it would be of old age, after a long life of love and happiness.

Lily cast the spell, and the fire ricocheted from the tip of her wand. Marlene’s eyes widened, her hair blowing past her face from the force of the spell, and she didn’t waste a second in throwing the diary high above her head. Lily’s fire consumed the small book, and the orange of the flames was poisoned by the blackness of the soul bursting.

A shrill scream tore through the countryside, and then, there was a second of stillness. Lily looked at Marlene, whose eyes were still as round as galleons. They were both breathing heavily, their hearts having leapt to their throats. There was no warning when the Horcrux exploded, and an invisible wall swarmed them, sending them flying backwards. Lily was thrown to the ground, and her head collided with something sharp and cold. She reached behind her, when the world started to spin, probing the back of her head; her fingers came back wet and sticky, coated in blood. Lily swallowed. She could no longer hear the screaming- instead, everything was muffled and there was a long and unwavering ringing. Her eyes darted to find Marlene, but all she could make out was a blonde blur on the other side of the smoke.

She knew Marlene was shouting something, but she couldn’t make out what it was. All Lily knew was that this was Voldemort’s downfall. They had destroyed the Horcrux. This was merely its decomposition.

Really, they should’ve known that Voldemort would refuse to go out without a bang.

Lily’s cheat heaved, and she let her head loll back against the grass. She could hear her own breathing, laboured and wheezy, echoing in her ears. The shrieking of the Horcrux was background noise, like a lullaby to her, and she closed her eyes. They had done it. The diary was gone.

**oOo**

_“For fuck’s sake!”_

Sirius ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. His eyes were wide and wild, glued to the door that was splintering with every additional blow. The wolves outside were growing restless, and, although the furniture held, a slit had appeared between the double doors. Snouts and yellow eyes pierced the gap.

Peter looked sidelong at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and hadn’t spoken a word since the first splinter appeared. James hadn’t even appeared to have heard him. He was too busy ensuring that the furniture was as secure as it could be, even as Sirius swore in the background.

“We should let them in,” said Peter suddenly. Sirius turned to look at him slowly, incredulous, as if he couldn’t quite believe what his friend had just said. Even James stopped what he was doing. “We don’t know where Hermione and Avery are. We don’t even know if they’re alive. We’ve destroyed our Horcrux. We can’t get out because _someone_ has put wards up. They’re going to get in somehow…” He sighed at last, breaking off. “There’s no other way. We might as well die on our own terms.”

“We’re not going to die,” James said forcefully. Sirius shifted his gaze to him, eyes lingering on his tensed jaw and furrowed brow. He moved over to stand by his friend, holding out his hand.

“You don't get to choose when you die,” Sirius said, and James looked at him, resolve crumbling slightly, “but you do get a say in how you go out. So I say, go out swinging. Eh, Prongs?”

James swallowed. It was a predicament he thought he’d never find himself in; here he was, with two of his best friends in the whole wide world, trapped in a room by an army of wolves, whilst the love of his life was off God knows where destroying a piece of someone’s soul. And not even anyone’s soul- their would-be-murderer’s! It sounded silly, absurd, absolutely preposterous! And yet, here they were, their lives on their sleeves, clinging to existence by the threads of its coat.

“James?" Sirius said.

He looked at him. He looked dishevelled and tired, and the worry that was gnawing away at him was obvious from the tenseness of his shoulders and the crinkles by his eyes. He knew that Sirius was most likely picturing Remus locked in that wardrobe, shoved in the dark where he had always had to wallow, alone and helpless, and wondering whether Hermione was even alive in this house, and despite it all, he still looked the most determined James had ever seen anyone look, so he inhaled deeply, breathing in one last time before he took Sirius’ hand and said:

"Let's go out swinging."

**oOo**

They rounded the last corner, legs aching from running for what felt like forever, sides burning from their gasping breaths, and faltered. The dead end they had arrived at made Hermione’s stomach drop, and her eyes closed in defeat.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Avery, though she could hear him panting next to her.

She began, muttering, “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know- I planned for us to both get out of here alive, I swear but I-”

“We’ll just have to fight,” replied Avery, and Hermione forced herself to meet his cool gaze. He swallowed, looking back at where they’d just come from. The werewolves on their tail were getting closer and closer, evident from the sound of their crashing run and ravenous jaws. He dragged Hermione by her elbow to the very end of the corridor, and they both retrieved their wands.

“These are just ordinary people,” Hermione said, whilst they waited.

Avery inhaled deeply. “I swear to Salazar, if you let your moral judgement cloud this fight, I’ll kill _you_ -”

“I’m not saying I won’t fight them,” she snapped impatiently. “Just that it’s odd to think Greyback is using an army of civilians.”

“They’re not civilians,” Avery said calmly, as the first wolf skidded round the corner and into their sight. Its yellow eyes fixed on them and it snarled ferociously “They’re werewolves.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “ _Incendio_ ,” and the werewolf was set on fire. It howled, clawed hands ripping at its own skin, screaming from the pain as the flames licked up its body. More wolves arrived, but they paid no attention to their friend, as they bounded towards the two of them.

 _“Levicorpus!”_ Hermione shouted, and the nearest one was hoisted up into the air, invisible rope tangling around his ankle. The wolf didn’t stop struggling, twisting and writhing, so she stupefied him for good measure.

Beside her, Avery fired spell after spell, taking on darker colours that she didn’t recognise. What she did recognise, however, was the unerringly familiar green of the Killing Curse, slipped into his crusade of magic every now and then. His spells always found their target.

Hermione opted to use less _permanently_ damaging ones, and she nonverbally procured _Stupefy’s_ and _Petrificus Totalus’._ After the first few, they got into a pattern; she would incapacitate them, Avery would dispose of them. Although she did not agree to this method, she failed to care once the number of wolves reached double digits- Remus had not been kidding when he had said that Greyback was bringing an _army_.

**oOo**

“Will _you_ be _careful?”_ James shouted, and it was the most livid Sirius had ever seen him. He flicked his wand and a nearby wolf, which had been coming for him, went flying into the wall. 

Sirius pushed some hair out of his eyes and shrugged. “What?”

James looked at him incredulously. He was thrown off for a moment by a wolf that had jumped on his back, and though Sirius tried to help, he couldn’t get a clear shot.

He stupefied another wolf, hexing a second, but his eyes kept shooting back to James, who still hadn’t managed to shake it off. Panic started to well up inside of him.

 _“James!”_ Sirius roared.

James spun around wildly, firing spell after spell over his shoulder until one of them hit their mark, and his assailant’s limbs locked up over his torso and only his eyes were free to move about. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, pausing to recover his breath before he said, eyes flaming, “You’re trying to get yourself killed!”

“Well I’m sorry!” Sirius yelled, jumping back as a wolf swiped for him. He dodged its sharp claws, moving backwards until he was able to stun the thing. When it slumped to the floor, he looked at James. “I don’t want to die-”

“Bullshit!” James said. “You’re acting like a madman, baiting them until it gets too close!”

Sirius waved his wand, before he hastily flicked it at another wolf. “I have magic, remember? Last time I checked, magic beats teeth and claws-”

“Not if the teeth and claws are embedded in your skin, Sirius!”

Sirius refused to reply, and his eyes scanned the room for Peter. Amongst the werewolves and furniture, which was now spread everywhere, he couldn’t find their friend. He stepped onto the nearest thing, which happened to be an unconscious werewolf, for a bit of height, craning his neck back. Over the top of large grand piano, Sirius thought he saw a flash of blonde but he couldn’t be sure for a hand wrapped around his ankle.

He glanced down, a surprised yelp leaving him. Of course he had to pick a wolf that woke up. Without hesitating, or giving the thing time for it to dig its claws into his calf, he stamped down hard on the wolf’s head, knocking it out once more. He must’ve broken the thing’s nose, for his boot had blood on. Whining and muttering in disgust, he wiped it against the wolf’s waistcoat.

Stepping back off its body, he swore as he noticed other werewolves regaining consciousness and climbing back up to fight, more determined and pissed off than before.

“This isn’t working!” Sirius yelled, stunning one which tried to encase his head in its jaws. “They just keep getting up off the ground! We’re going to have to start killing them-!”

 _“No!”_ James ordered. “We’re not killing them! This isn’t their fault! They’re pawns, just like us.”

Sirius tried not to take offence to that, preferring to punch a wolf that decided to get a little too up close and friendly for comfort. He resisted the urge to kill them, incapacitating them instead, sending them flying upside down like they used to do to Snivellus. He was good at this spell, very good indeed. After all, he’d had years of practise.

**oOo**

Remus didn’t know how long he sat beside Greyback, but when he finally stood up, he had to wipe his nose on his sleeve. His eyes stung and fingers throbbed, and he knew he had to find his friends but he couldn’t shake the image of Greyback’s lips bubbling with blood, or the overwhelmingly _human_ fear in his eyes.

He’d just killed his Alpha.

He felt more tears coming, and hysteria threated to pour out of him so he paced. His hands shook violently. Remus didn’t know what to do- he didn’t know if his friends were alive, he didn’t know if Sirius was alive-

But Greyback would’ve smelt it, and from the sounds of things, he wanted Sirius to himself so he couldn’t be dead. No. Sirius Black wasn’t dead.

But what was he supposed to do? What _could_ he do? He was trapped in a house full of werewolves, and God only knew if his friends were all okay. How was he supposed to stop an army of wolves-?

_“You won’t win this- There’s no way you can win this… Wolves can’t fight without an Alpha, **Pup-”**_

And suddenly, Remus knew what he had to do.

**oOo**

Peter could feel his arm start to ache. He had a stitch in his side, and his spells were becoming sloppier and less effective. His stunners only lasted a few minutes before the wolf was back on its feet and vengeful. He could see James fighting in the corner of his eye, but had no idea where Sirius was. From the sounds of things, he was still alive- he could hear James shouting furiously at someone, and Peter recognised the tone of his voice as the one he reserved for Sirius when he was playing Mother Hen.

That could only mean one thing. The three of them were okay.

But Peter had no idea for how much longer they would be okay. Even James was becoming tired; Peter could tell from the way his spells dimmed in colour. There was no way they could get out of this one. The werewolves were like an unstoppable force against their tired, human bodies, and Peter had never thought it would end like this.

 _“For fuck’s sake!_ ” Sirius’ voice cut through the fighting. “ _Just_ _stay_ _dead,_ _will you?”_

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, Peter reasoned. At least he would die surrounded by his friends.

It was as that thought graced his mind that a howl cut through the fighting, and they all stopped. It was eerie, almost. The conflict ceased, and both wolf and human alike turned to look at the door.

Sirius felt his body almost give way from the relief that flooded through him. Remus, though he looked bloody and tired, was alive, standing before them all.

“Greyback is dead!” Remus shouted from the doorway, and it was only after a minute that Sirius noticed he was leaning against it. The wolves faltered. James and Sirius shared a perturbed glance. Remus continued in a shaking voice, “Your Alpha is _gone_.”

It was as if this had been the cue they were waiting for, or the turning point in everything, but the wolves howled simultaneously. Their howls were mournful and scared, unsure and regretful, and Remus strained his neck, biting back the urge to howl with them.

When they stopped, they retrieved their friends, some still unconscious on the floor, or hanging from the ceiling, and left through the doors, running as far away as they could from the Orphanage. They did not look back.

Remus tried not to look at them, in fear that he would recognise them from the pack. He wondered if they had kids, if the runts would now be eaten because Greyback wasn’t there to protect them. He wondered, like a punch to his gut, what would happen to Tommy.

“This is all your fault.”

Remus looked up, and he felt his chest heave at the sight of Alf. The wolf looked to have endured some heavy blows during the fight, but there was no fight left in him. There was anger though, fury, and Remus knew that he’d love to rip his veins open.

Remus wasn’t sure if he’d stop him.

“I guess the pack will need a new Alpha,” he continued.

“It won’t be you.” He spoke before he could stop himself, in a weak murmur. Alf raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Remus looked him straight in the eye and said, “You will never be him.”

Alf’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed yellow, but at this point, Remus didn’t really care.

“Move along, Fluffy,” said Sirius, though his voice was forceful and twisted where it would once be silky and light. Alf shot him an irritated glare, before letting his eyes bore into Remus one final time. Sirius stared after him as he broke into a run to follow his pack, then moved into the space Alf had occupied, staring at Remus with cautious eyes. “Are you alright?”

Remus didn’t reply, merely sniffed when he felt his nose start to run again. Sirius swallowed, nodding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

After a while, Remus said, “No.”

“Well,” said Sirius. “If it make you feel any better, know that you saved our lives. Whatever you did, I’m not saying it’s wrong or right, but it’s the reason we’re all alive. Remember that, won’t you Remus? Because knowing you, you’ll forget it. And that little detail is damn important.”

Remus looked at him then, and all he could think was that the blood staining his fingers was worth it, if only for the simple reason that Sirius Black was still alive.

James came over at that moment, arm wrapped around Peter. They weren’t injured, but the fight had taken a toll on them, and the support the other provided was enough to give them a few more minutes.

“Are you okay?” James asked, concern leaking into his voice. Remus just smiled weakly.

Peter’s eyes widened as his gaze trailed past their heads. _“Hermione?”_

  **oOo**

“What’s the hold-up?” Dorcas demanded, whirling round to look at Emmeline.

The latter was sitting on the beach, sifting sand through her fingers. She had been staring out at the sea up until that point, where she raised her eyes to look at her girlfriend.

“How am I supposed to know?” asked Emmeline. “I’ve been with you the whole day.”

Dorcas huffed but chose not to comment on this idle sarcasm. She said, “We should’ve gotten the sign by now. It’s been hours. Something must’ve happened-”

“Or,” Emmeline cut her off patiently, “we simply underestimated how long it takes to find and destroy a Horcrux.”

Although she didn’t reply, Dorcas still didn’t look convinced. Em frowned and said, in a softer voice, “It will be alright. I promise.”

Dorcas nodded absently, before she turned back to watching the diadem, which was in the same position it had been five hours ago. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Maybe we should just destroy it now,” she said suddenly. Emmeline’s head shot to look at her.

When she realised the other girl was being serious, she said, “No.”

Dorcas exhaled, loud and frustrated, but Emmeline just said, “We’re doing it like a domino effect for a reason. So it happens one at a time and Voldemort won’t be able to trace one specific location because he’ll be so overwhelmed by the feeling of his soul being destroyed. If you break the pattern, you risk losing that security.”

Dorcas stared at her, face harsh and unreadable. In the end, she sighed, moving over to sit beside her, and said, “Why are you so smart?”

Emmeline raised her eyebrows, looking sideways at her. “I’m glad you’ve realised. It’s taken you long enough.”

A small smile curled Dorcas’ lips, but it didn’t last for very long. She looked at Emmeline, eyes searching and serious, words burning the tip of her tongue.

“What?” Em murmured, sensing the change in her.

Dorcas shook her head slightly. “I just never thought anyone would love me so fully and irrevocably as you have.”

Emmeline frowned, pushing down her heart which had jumped to the back of her throat. “Dorcas-”

“You’ve made war bearable,” Dorcas continued, in such a delicate voice that Emmeline half-wanted to tell the sea to shush so she could hear it. “And I didn’t think that was possible.”

Emmeline regarded her for a moment. Then, she said, “You’re talking like you’re expecting to die.”

Dorcas laughed, picking the sand up in her palm, and watching as it fell through the gaps in her fingers. “No,” she countered. “I’ve just been stuck on this beach with you for five hours now that I’ve realised that was long overdue.”

“I don’t need some silly declaration of love to know that you love me,” Emmeline told her earnestly. Dorcas pretended to be offended.

“Silly?”

Emmeline laughed slightly, bumping their shoulders together. “You know what I mean.”

Dorcas looked at her, and their faces were so close that it was easy to breach the space between them. It was a sweet kiss, soft and tender, perfect until the voice cut through the sound of the waves and tore them from whatever dream they had clutched to.

“Well, isn’t this lovely?”

Dorcas leapt to her feet, wrenching her wand from her pocket. Emmeline was quick to follow.

It was a peculiar sight; Voldemort on a beach, like seeing your teacher outside of school. Except this particular sight caused a panic so vehement and debilitating to rise up inside of them both, and they were rendered momentarily frozen.

“You bastard,” breathed Dorcas, and Voldemort dragged his eyes to her. They narrowed.

“Ah yes,” he said loftily. “I remember you. And that foul-mouth. Your fighting has been valiant… But I’m afraid it is all in vain.”

Dorcas found herself unable to look away from him, but Emmeline eyed the diadem on the rock where they had left it. If only she could-

Her eyes cut back to Dorcas, who had whispered something. Voldemort raised his eyebrows, amusement playing across the curl of his lip.

“What was that?”

Slightly louder this time, she said, “It’s not in vain.”

There was not an ounce of doubt in her voice, and she stared at him unwaveringly. Emmeline felt her body go stiff, and she could only pray that the fire in her girlfriend, that same fire she had fallen in love with, did not tempt the Dark Lord to snuff her out. 

Dorcas was closer to the diadem. All she had to do was reach for it and it would be in her grasp, and all they’d have to do was apparate and destroy it then, or set it on fire and leave whilst Voldemort burned. Emmeline saw the opportunity, and leapt on it before she could think twice.

“It’s too late for you,” she said, and Dorcas shot her an incredulous look, warning and worried all at once. Emmeline didn’t look at her, but prayed she would realise. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dorcas turn her head and freeze. _Thank Merlin-_

Voldemort’s eyes raked her body, uninterested. “And you are?”

“Emmeline Vance. I’ve been an active member of the group currently trying to kill you.”

Dorcas looked at her then, head snapping round in incredulity at her gall. Emmeline wished she would hurry up and destroy the damned crown. Voldemort laughed.

“And how is that going for you?”

The smug bastard actually had the audacity to sound amused.

Emmeline cocked her head, jaw tightening. “It’s proven more difficult than I anticipated.”

“I see.”

She knew she had to keep him talking, as Dorcas shifted towards the diadem, so she asked, “How did you find us?”

“Did you really think your friends stood a chance? They begged me to save their lives, and were all too happy to give me your location if that would do it…” Voldemort replied languidly. “Don’t worry. I killed them anyway. Nobody likes rats.”

Emmeline felt her blood run cold, and her heart dropped through her body. She could only hope fervently that he was lying. He had to be lying. Dorcas paused too, thrown off by this revelation. He slid his eyes to her, and said disdainfully, “Did you really think you were inconspicuous?”

Dorcas remained fixed in place, frozen to the spot at being found out. Emmeline felt her brain working in overdrive, desperately thinking of a plan. Something didn’t add up-

She looked at Voldemort coldly and said, realisation making her entire body tingle, “The other teams didn’t know our locations… You haven’t touched them.” Without wasting another second, she added, “Dorcas- **_NOW!_** ”

Dorcas leapt for the diadem, at the same time as Voldemort drew his wand. She didn’t notice, but it was doubtful she cared. She threw the crown in the air, as high as it would go and Emmeline put all of her might and magic into the spell, feeling relief flood through her when the fire devoured it above their heads.

She missed the way the green light exploded from Voldemort’s wand, groping towards Dorcas, hitting her chest just as diadem left the very tips of her fingers-

Emmeline did not miss, however, the way Dorcas’ limp body crashed to the floor, or Voldemort’s furious scream as his chest was speared by light. She didn’t stick around. Somehow, through the numbness, she managed to get her legs to move. She threw her arms around Dorcas’ waist, and apparated, far, far away from that beach with the fire-stained sky, and the death-stained sand, wondering how love could be kissing you one minute, then lie dead in your arms by the next.

**oOo**

When the five of them returned back to Headquarters, they were surprised (and relieved) to see how full it was.

Avery had parted with them at the Orphanage, and although Hermione had told him to come along, he had declined, telling her that he had a date with ‘a rich alcoholic’s booze cupboard’. She found she couldn’t blame him, and had held him close, kissing his cheek and whispering, _“See, I told you I planned on getting us both out alive.”_

As soon as they collapsed in the living room, they felt their hearts calm themselves at how many people had made it back already. Lily rushed over to James, throwing herself at him, and although he stumbled, he wrapped his arms back around her without a second’s hesitation.

“You took so long,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Oh _God_ , we had no idea what to think-”

“We fought an army of werewolves,” James replied, and Lily lifted her head slowly to look at him.

When she found no evidence of a joke, she looked at Hermione and demanded, “You’re serious?”

“Technically,” Sirius said to no one in particular, mild and irritatingly calm, “ _I’m_ Sirius,”

Remus glared at him and said in a quiet voice, “Peter, my hands are shaking rather violently at the moment. Can you do the honours?”

Peter’s eyes lit up and he reached over and punched Sirius hard in the arm.

Hermione ignored the loud yelp he emitted, and nodded tiredly. “Yes. It took longer than expected, admittedly. But we still did it.” Her eyes trailed the room, from Caradoc and Benjy to Alice and Frank. She said in a low voice, “Where’s Dorcas and Emmeline?”

Nobody spoke for a minute.

“We don’t know,” said Marlene quietly. Hermione hadn’t even noticed her till then, for she was sitting on a chair in the corner. “We haven’t heard anything from them.”

Hermione went through the plan in her head. Something was wrong. “But they should be here-”

A crack fractured the worry in the room, and Emmeline appeared in the middle of them.

The first thing that struck them was the way she was crouched low over something.

The second thing that struck them was the loud, broken sobs coming from her mouth.

The third thing that struck them was the absence of Dorcas Meadowes.

“Em,” began Marlene carefully, having jumped to her feet. She was pale, unbelievably so. “Em, where’s Dorky? _Em-”_

There was a moment in which nobody dared to breathe. It became clear that the _something_ Emmeline was leaning over was in fact a _someone_. Emmeline wailed, burrowing her head deeper into the body.

“ _I TRIED!”_ She screamed. “I _tried_ to save her- I _tried_ but he _knew_ \- He _knew_ what we were doing and we couldn’t let him take the Horcrux- _We couldn’t_ \- We should’ve destroyed it when she _said_ \- Then she’d still be _alive_ -”

Marlene looked like she was going to be sick, as Emmeline sat up slightly, and Dorcas’ unseeing face was brought into view. She stood there, as Caradoc took Emmeline away to try and calm her down, and someone brought her a blanket, and wondered how that corpse on the floor was the same girl who had stuck by her for seven years at school, and covered for her when she’d been hungover, and snuck into the Astronomy Tower for picnics and make-out sessions during History of Magic. She wondered how that could be the same girl that she was convinced she had fallen in love with, who had broken her heart when she’d told her she loved Emmeline Vance.

Marlene stood and stared down at Dorcas’ body and wondered how that thing could be the same girl she knew, before she realised it didn’t matter how, because it _was._ It was Dorcas, _her_ Dorky, who had been the only one brave enough (or stupid) to tell her when she was being a bitch, and who made her feel like an actual human instead of a pretty face for people to stare at. That was her best friend.

None of that mattered anymore though. How could it?

“Marls.” A soft voice was saying. “Marls.”

“Hm?” She jolted suddenly, blinking, and the corpse was removed from her vision. When she looked up, she saw Sirius standing next to her. His fingers fluttered at her elbow, gentle and comforting.

He said softly, “We need to get you home. You need to sleep.”

Marlene didn’t say anything, just stared at Dorcas’ face, trying to commit every inch of it to memory. She still had sand in her eyelashes, and stuck to her cold lips.

“Marlene?”

“Yes?” She looked at him again. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

She burst into action, taking the blanket from around her shoulders and draping it over the nearest chair. Her movements were bumbling though, numb. Sirius watched her.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Marlene looked at him, and she shook her head slightly. A small smile graced her lips. “No. Go cuddle him.” Sirius’ face changed, and her eyes trailed past him to look at someone. He could guess who. When she looked back at him, her eyes were watery and her smile was soft. “And promise me you’ll never let him go.”

She left him standing there, and Sirius found he couldn’t quite move for a few moments after. When he turned back around, he realised that Headquarters had cleared. Only he, Remus, James and Lily remained. Someone had moved the body. Where, he didn’t know, but he was glad it was gone.

He moved over to stand next to Remus, tuning in casually to the end of James and Lily’s farewells.

“-oh and by the way, before I forget,” said James, turning to look at Sirius. “If you ever pull that stunt again, I will kill you myself. You hear me?”

Sirius swallowed, wrenched into reality. James stared at him for a moment, before he said, “I don’t even get it. I don’t- What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I just-” Sirius began, then broke off. He said firmly, in a low voice, “I just don’t want my death to be a waste. I want it to _mean_ something. I want it to be for the _greater good-!_ ”

 _“Death?”_ James repeated incredulously.

“James-” began Sirius, realising his mistake.

“No. You listen to me, okay? There is no such thing as a _waste of a death!”_ He was so angry he was shaking. Every word dripped from his lips and he seemed to be trying to control himself. Sirius, stunned into silence, just stared at him, lost for words.

James wasn’t. The words burned his tongue with their poison, but he had to say them, he had to say them to Sirius. “ _Or a greater good!_ I’m sick of you acting like the only way for you to mean anything is for you to die heroically! Your death doesn’t mean anything, Sirius, because after it all, no matter how you die, you’ll still be _dead!_ ”

There was a moment of frigid silence where the two brothers stared at one another, resolutely, unwaveringly. Remus looked between them. He frowned and asked in a careful voice, “James, what are you talking about?”

“Ask your boyfriend,” said James, and Remus had never heard him sound so tired. He took his glasses off, closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He seems to be the one with the death wish.”

Remus looked at the man in question, ignoring how dishevelled his hair was and how exhausted and _clear_ he looked. He swallowed and forced himself to say it. “Sirius? You want to die?”

Sirius didn’t answer straight away.

“No,” he said finally.

“That pause didn’t inspire confidence,” joked Remus but the attempt was poor and if anything, his concern bled through the humour. “Sirius-?”

“I don’t want to die!” said Sirius loudly, looking at both Remus and James. “Okay? Are you happy now? But I do plan on dying heroically _one day_ and none of us know when that day is going to be, but until then, I don’t give a _shit_ whether that bothers you because you are just going to have to suck it up and _deal with it._ I am not going to sit back and die a coward’s death- _”_

“Oh?” Remus swallowed. He said, voice rising against his will, “So what’s a hero’s death, huh Sirius? Please inform me because the way I see it, it doesn’t matter how you die, it’s how you _live_ -”

 _"Dying for you!"_ Sirius stressed, and there was a desperate honesty clinging to his words. The room seemed much louder in the quiet that followed, and Sirius quickly shattered it. “That’s a hero’s death.”

Remus shook his head disbelievingly and he shouted, "That's just it, Sirius! I don't _want_ you to die for me!"

His voice was ragged, verging on breaking. Sirius frowned, and his mouth opened and closed, forming questions that were lost on Remus’ ears. He looked puzzled, like he couldn't quite understand.

Remus licked his lips, and he let his eyes trail around the room, raking settee and peeling wall, because the pained confusion on Sirius’ face was too much for him to bear.

Eventually, he sighed and dragged them back to his very best friend, the person he loved more than anything else in the world. Sirius still hadn't said anything- he couldn't.

"You think that love means dying for someone," Remus said carefully, trying to control the volume of his voice. "But it _doesn't_. Love is nothing if you die. Okay, Sirius? _IT'S NOTHING!"_ He broke off. He was trembling, and he couldn't even look at the boy who had saved his life, who had cared for him and looked after him and reminded him of purpose every time he felt like he was losing track. He couldn't look at Sirius because the truth was tearing him apart. Remus said finally, in a voice so honest it was breaking, "If you die, _I'm_ nothing."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: RIGHT so I have been a terrible person basically because I have not updated in ages and I’ve had it planned out but writing it proved to be more difficult than I imagined! I’m going to keep this fairly simple because it is 2am in the morning over here and my mum would KILL me if she found out I was still awake (like ACTUALLY KILL ME!):
> 
> This chapter did not have much Hermione in it, but that’s because the plan had to be carried out and she was only a small part of it. Next chapter will have some more Hermione/Avery scenes because those two have been a bit rocky lately. To be fair to her, how do you tell someone you HAVE to die for the war to end? (Remember: this Hermione doesn’t know that Harry actually survived so for all she knows, she’s gotta die.)
> 
> I LOVE THE REMUS/GREYBACK DYNAMIC! I know that sounds really weird, and like some kind of weird fetish but I do! I love writing him so much that it kinda killed me to kill him off! His death is very open though in how it affects Remus and, truthfully, how it affects Greyback in his last few seconds.
> 
> I’m so sorry but Dorcas had to die. And a few of you will probably wonder about the Marlene/Dorcas hints but after going back and reading some earlier chapters and really thinking about my characters, I’ve come to the conclusion that a Marlene/Dorcas romance would be quite fitting. Though, despite the fact that they love each other very much, Dorcas appreciates the fact that Marlene is incapable of ‘settling down’. I’m going to be adding more hints towards this though the fic (like I have been doing with Wolfstar if any of you have re-read this whole thing recently) but I thought I’d include it now so I didn’t have to change it later:) I guess the fact that they’re not major characters in this also leaves their lives and relationship up to your imagination:)
> 
>  
> 
> This is a scene I’m going to add in, if any of you are interested:
> 
> Marlene looked at her, and although the lines of her face were harsh, her eyes were soft.
> 
> "Are you sure?" She asked. There was nothing in her voice to suggest she was anything but delicate, but Dorcas swore she heard the ragged desperation- the hope that she wasn't sure, after all.
> 
> Still, Dorcas swallowed and said, "Yes."
> 
> Marlene nodded, but she tore her eyes away. "Does she make you happy?"
> 
> Dorcas nodded this time and said, "Very."
> 
> Marlene was still nodding and she tried a smile but couldn't quite manage it. Dorcas wanted to hold her hand, smooth away the creases written deep into her skin but she didn't. Marlene wasn't hers to love anymore.
> 
> And yet the truth hurt her so much she couldn’t hold it back.
> 
> "I still love you," Dorcas said, in a voice that trembled but did not break. "I'll always love you. And I don't blame you. I could never. You just don't love me-"
> 
> "Of course I do-" began Marlene but Dorcas smiled and cut her off.
> 
> "You don't love me the way I want you to," she conceded. Her dark eyes were steady and collected, and they made Marlene's wide ones look messy and jumbled in comparison. "And that's okay. I guess I always kinda knew we wouldn't last."
> 
> Marlene's face crumpled but she managed to hold herself together just long enough to ask, "How?"
> 
> "Because you're you, Marls," said Dorcas, smiling, and this smile wasn't faked; it was brilliant and warm. "Because you're so extraordinary that not even my love could tie you down. But I'm okay with that." Dorcas dropped her voice, and it was so painstakingly sincere that even the air touching her words shivered. "Loving you, and being loved by you, was the biggest privilege I could've asked for. It's enough."  
> ***  
> Aaaaanndddd I’m rambling. It’s because it’s late and I am literally dead. Thank you for all your support. I’ve noticed a few of you are sad this is close to an end and honestly, I am too!!!! I don’t care how sad some of you may find me, this fic has become a massive part of my life. And I’m really going to miss it. That’s why, as actually suggested by some of you, I’m attempting to turn it into an original story!! Obviously, the characters and situation and plot will be different but it will have the same themes and a lot of the same scenes and stuff so it’s basically me ‘50 shading a twilight fanfic’ (that phrase will never catch on but I stand by it!). I say this but it will simply go to the top of a very large pile of unfinished original stories written and abandoned by Me.
> 
> I love you all so so much. I’ve grown so much, both as an author and a person, whilst writing this and that’s largely down to you. (My ego has always grown so I can barely fit through doors but it’s fine, that’s what big windows are for.) And my soppiness is… well, about the same really:) sorry for the essay!!!!! Like I said, I ramble when I’m tired!!
> 
> Update: It is now 3am.


	90. Chapter 90- The Meadow

** Chapter 90- The Meadow **

 

Hermione sat in the meadow, and the summer air was warm and lovely against her skin. She was under the shade of the tree, sifting the long lavender stems through her fingers. The summer day was lazy, coaxing her, and she closed her eyes, leaning back against the base of the tree. She could fall asleep, maybe forever; just sleep away her life. That would be so much easier, she was sure of it.

She didn’t hear when he appeared, and didn’t even bother to open her eyes when she heard his voice call across the field.

“This is odd,” said Avery. “You almost look innocent.”

Hermione opened her eyes at that to look at him. He was standing in front of her, towering, blocking out the sunlight. She raised her eyebrows.

“I _am_ innocent.”

He scoffed, “You nearly got us killed by enticing an entire army of werewolves after us.”

He sat down opposite her, lifting up her outstretched legs to lie across his. Avery didn’t seem to think twice of this, but Hermione felt her face heat up and pretended it was the sun. He finally looked at her, and she’d forgotten how pretty he was. His eyelashes, dark and long, cast a shadow against his pale cheek. His cheekbones were high, his jaw sharp. He looked like a piece of art someone had drawn with very dark charcoal.

When she blinked, she realised Avery was watching her intently. He said, “Sometimes I do wonder what goes on in your mind.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But then I think actually I’d rather not. I’ve seen some terrifying things but the inside of your head would most likely top them off.”

She thwacked his arm, and he laughed. The sound was so genuine and rare, and Hermione found that she liked these moments- the ones where they could pretend they were normal people, relishing in the intricacies of life.

“The plan went smoothly,” she said instead, if only for the way it cracked her fantasy. She hated the reality, and the way it poisoned the dream, but it was what it was and some whimsical fancy would not change that.

Avery hummed in agreement. “Much better than I expected, though ‘ _smooth’_ isn’t the word I would use.”

Hermione frowned at him and said, “But it all worked out.”

He sent her an exasperated look, and she was almost distracted by the way his fingers played with the bare skin of her calf absently, like he didn’t realise he was doing it.

Almost.

“Oh yes, after we couldn’t find the Horcrux for hours, fell out countless times, struggled to destroy the damn thing, had to lock up one of our own so he wouldn’t flip out and kill us then fight off an entire army of werewolves,” summed up Avery and she winced a little at the memory. “’Smooth’ can definitely not be used here. It’s not even in our vocabulary.”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ …” Hermione conceded sarcastically, and he quirked his eyebrows at her.

“This is before we even mention the dead girl.”

She felt her throat grow tight and swallowed repeatedly to try and clear it. Hermione had told Avery the next day what had happened with Dorcas and Emmeline, and he hadn’t seemed very sympathetic about it. It wasn’t like she had expected him to care, she just couldn’t shake the guilt that Dorcas’ death was her fault. Even the most conclusive of plans could be thwarted- really, she shouldn’t have expected anything less. Like Avery said, ‘ _smooth’_ was not in their vocabulary.

“What I’d be concerned about,” drawled Avery, his eyes deceptively sharp, “is how Voldemort found them in the first place.”

Hermione stilled, eyes catching on the floor. It unnerved her how casual he could talk about death, whilst the word to her was still a taboo. It was odd, as well, how she knew and accepted that death was just another factor of life, and she had dealt with more of it than anyone ever should have to in their lifetime, never mind eighteen years, and yet the notion still didn’t sit right with her. Fighting in a war should make you numb to it, but it didn’t. It just made you more tuned in to the decadent and finite thrum of everyone’s life.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said finally. “I haven’t spoken to Emmeline since that day. I haven’t even seen her. She barely leaves her room.”

“Can you blame her?” Avery asked. “If it were me…”

He trailed off, though she heard something unspoken in his voice and continued to stare at him even as he stared out across the meadow. It was the most unsure she’d ever heard him sound.

There were moments, such as this, when everything was quiet and words so truthful and fragile dripped from his lips, that Hermione wondered whether he was more the flower than the serpent beneath it. He wasn’t a monster, not by a long shot, but he was no angel. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to him once she was gone. Would the Order pardon him for helping them? Or would he die an uncharted hero like Regulus; an unwavering beacon in the darkness that was never even registered?

"Do you believe in a heaven?" Hermione asked him suddenly.

Avery scoffed without missing a heartbeat, turning to look at her to gauge whether or not she had just asked him that. She took this as his answer.

"Do you believe in a hell?"

He looked at her abruptly and said, "I believe that there are good people and bad people. I believe that everyone should get what's coming for them. Unfortunately, the world doesn't work like that." His eyes flitted away, staring off into the world as though he were deep in thought. "Do I believe in a hell? It's a funny question to answer when you're surrounded by demons all day and pledge your life and soul to the devil himself."

He spoke lightly, sardonically, but there was a darkness to his voice which Hermione didn't know how to reply to, so she remained silent. He slanted his eyes sideways at her and asked, "What about you?"

She didn't look at him, merely hummed in thought.

"I hope there's a heaven," she said.

Avery's eyes narrowed. "You're not going there anytime soon."

Hermione sensed the underlying warning to his voice and she tried to ignore it, and the niggling guilt that accompanied it. Instead, she said stonily, "Neither are you."

But her words had the opposite effect, for he snorted.

"Trust me, I know," said Avery. Her pretence dropped. "There's a little place in hell with my name on it."

Hermione scowled. "Don't say that."

He frowned at her. "Why? You know it's true."

“No,” she said. “Actually, I don’t. You may be all loved up with that tattoo on your arm for appearances, but I know who you really are. I’ve seen your soul, Frédéric.” His dark eyes were locked on hers. It was like he didn’t even dare to blink. “And it’s not black. It’s blinding.”

Without wasting another second, Avery leaned forward, closing the gap between them and he kissed her fervently, passionately, so hard and long that she could barely breathe and her head went light. Hermione cupped his jaw in her hands and their kiss didn’t break as he wrapped his hands under her thighs, lifting her easily onto his lap. His arms encased her, and she felt sticky from the summer sun and the sweat gluing them together but she didn’t care. This hot, messy whirlwind was how they were supposed to live; euphoric, chaotic and free.

“You make me feel…” Avery began, murmuring against her lips, “so _alive_.”

Hermione kissed him, pressing chaste kisses to his eyelids, cheekbones, throat. He closed his eyes, a ragged breath trickling from his lips.

“You make me feel good-”

“You _are_ good,” she countered.

“Only with you,” he argued, but there was no real force behind it. He was too breathless.

She just pressed her lips to his, kissing him so hard she feared she would bruise. She kissed him because she was suddenly aware that this might be the last time she would ever kiss him, and the thought terrified her. Her eyes were clenched shut and his tongue traced her mouth, his teeth found her lip and played with it. Hermione felt overwhelmed, like she was exploding, and she was glad this was how she'd remember it; being loved by him. Avery pulled away slightly after a few minutes, tucking a curl behind her ear, and whispered, “ _Breathe_.”

Hermione hadn't even realised how breathless she was. Her heart ached in her chest. He rested his forehead against hers, and their breaths mingled, hot and desperate. When she felt more in control, he kissed her again, but gently this time, like he wanted to taste her and cherish every second of it. Avery laid her down, hovering over her and she liked the way his body moulded into hers; every groove matched perfectly. They broke apart again, but not before he gave her one last lingering kiss.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but she didn’t stop him as he laid down behind her, pulling her close into his body and draping his arm across her waist.

“I just want to hold you,” Avery said.

He moved her hair to the side and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Hermione closed her eyes, lacing her fingers through his. She wondered whether she was dreaming because it all felt too surreal, like she was floating. This was what she wanted to remember when she died, this moment right now, where the sun smiled down at their innocence and all she could feel was love.

She wasn’t really sure when he went to sleep, but she focused on the steadying thrum of his chest against her back, and the way his breathing evened out. He was still holding her.

Hermione dragged her thumb up and down his hand and, in his sleep, Avery squeezed hers. She tried to sniff quietly, and reached up with her free hand to wipe at her face because she was crying and she knew why, and it hurt.

“I wish I could live for you,” she whispered.

 

**oOoOoOo**

 

She drifted off at some point, under the tree, in a Death Eater’s arms, and she didn't dream of the darkness once. They both woke up at the same time, when Avery hissed in pain, shifting. His Dark Mark burned and they could only share a look before he disappeared. There was no goodbye kiss, no farewell, but Hermione hadn’t expected one. The kiss had been her farewell to him. If she didn't see him again, she could rest happy knowing that Avery knew she cared about him.

She apparated back to Headquarters, and there was only one thing echoing through her mind.

_“What I’d be concerned about is how Voldemort found them in the first place.”_

Hermione swallowed, bracing herself for a moment, before she knocked on the door. A weak voice called back, and she entered the room.

Emmeline was sat up in bed, and Hermione tried to keep her face straight, but her stomach jolted at the sight of her. She had dark circles framing her brown eyes, and her skin was pallid. She looked like she was dying, but Hermione had lost too many people to know it was grief.

"How are you feeling?" She asked gently, closing the door behind her but not moving closer.

Emmeline shrugged. "You can probably guess."

Hermione nodded absently, and every soothing comment she had planned to alleviate Emmeline's pain flew from her mind.

Instead, she said lamely, "It will get better. I promise."

Emmeline just nodded, and Hermione felt herself fumble. She said awkwardly, "I need to ask you something..."

Emmeline didn't seem particularly engaged but she looked at her, and Hermione took this as the sign to continue.

"How did he find you?” Hermione asked her. She wished her words didn’t sound so serious and accusatory, because Dorcas was dead, and there were so many other things she should be saying, but she needed to know. If there was some way Voldemort could find them… She shuddered to think, and pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

“I don’t know,” whispered Emmeline. She was staring at her bed, hair draped over one shoulder, and Hermione had never seen her look so empty. "I just- it all happened so fast... He just appeared, and then-"

She broke off, breath shaking, catching in her throat.

Hermione bowed her head and moved further into the room. She perched on the edge of the bed, hesitant to get closer.

"Emmeline," she began gently and the tone of her voice made the other girl look at her with wide eyes. "You have to think. I need you to tell me what happened. If he can track his Horcruxes-"

"What does it matter?" Emmeline asked, sniffing loudly. "All the Horcruxes are destroyed."

She looked at Hermione then, and it took all her willpower to not tell her the truth. Emmeline had always had such calm and critical eyes; it was the reason she and Dorcas went together. It was the reason Caradoc had recruited her, and Caradoc had always been the best judge of character.

Instead, Hermione cleared her throat, looking away, and said, "I just need to know."

"But I don't-" Emmeline broke off, frustrated. She shook her head, a small frown creased between her eyebrows. At Hermione's pleading eyes, she sighed and said, "Erm... We'd been waiting for ages. I was fine about it, figured someone must be held up, but it was nothing to worry about... Dorcas was worrying. She wanted to destroy it and go. She's- she was... always quite violent." She let out a small laugh. "I think the fact that it was Marlene who was supposed to be sending us the say-so scared her the most... She wanted to get back to see if Marlene was alright."

Emmeline smiled blankly, but Hermione saw the pain there. She said quietly, "She may have been with me but I'm not an idiot. She loved Marlene too."

Hermione didn't know what to say because she'd honesty never noticed. She wondered whether she was that oblivious to romance, or whether she just hadn't paid enough attention to Dorcas when she'd been alive. That thought made her stomach twist.

"Okay," she said, trying to think. “What time was this?” Emmeline’s eyes widened and she pulled a face. “Roughly?”

Emmeline shook her head. “I have no idea… Maybe five? It was… late. Like I said, we’d been there for hours.”

Hermione tried not to let her irritation show as she stood up, and said, “Okay. Thanks anyway.” She made her way towards the door, pausing before she left so she could say softly, “Emmeline, I’m really sorry.”

And she meant it.

**oOoOoOo**

Fuelled by her frustration at figuring out nothing, Hermione focused on what she did know.

Whilst she may _not_ know how Voldemort found Dorcas and Emmeline on that beach, she _did_ know that all the Horcruxes bar one had been successfully destroyed. She also knew that Dorcas was dead because of this. And that, someday very soon, she would have to die too.

Then, the rest of the Order could take Voldemort out.

Hermione also knew that they had to act very quickly so that he couldn’t make any more. That was partly the reason she found herself sitting in front of Dumbledore the next day, and completely the reason why she was there to ask him for help.

"What brings you to Hogwarts, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked her pleasantly, offering her a bowl of sherbet lemons.

Hermione helped herself to one, popping it in her mouth before she said, "I just had some business to attend to and I thought I’d explain."

He watched her quietly, and she sighed.

"We should probably skip the pleasantries," she said. " _I_ know that _you_ know that we went behind your back."

Dumbledore didn't say anything, but his blue eyes were piercing and Hermione swallowed and added, almost reluctantly, "And I know that Dorcas is dead because of it. And you are probably _furious_ -"

"Quite the contrary, Miss Granger," her former Headmaster replied.

Hermione trailed off, mouth still open. She gaped, trying to find a response to gift him with but in the end, she settled with a dumbfounded, "What?"

Dumbledore smiled at her and said, “Your plan to do the mission whilst I was out of the country was actually most ingenious, despite your true intentions for it. Tom had his top men following me, ensuring I wasn’t up to anything which could give us an advantage in the war. That meant that all you had to face was a prepositioned army of werewolves and, should he regain enough energy, Voldemort himself.”

_“It all happened so fast... He just appeared, and then-"_

 “Unlucky for us, he did regain enough energy,” she said bitterly, sending him a rueful smile. “At least, enough for him to kill Dorcas.”

Dumbledore sighed, and the sound was heavy, as he threaded his fingers together. It seemed he wanted to say something, but hesitance fringed his downcast eyes and pursed lips. Eventually, he forced himself to ask something that made Hermione’s eyebrows knit together in a small frown.

"Did Miss Meadowes die in the original timeline?"

"I-" she began. Then stopped and started again. "Yes. I believe she did. I never knew much about her except that-"

There was a coldness that seeped through her, poisoning her bloodstream and she felt her bones as if they had just quadrupled in weight, pressing her into the chair.

Dumbledore was watching her with polite interest.

"That what, Miss Granger?"

Hermione forced herself to look at him, and said, "That Voldemort killed her personally."

She continued hastily, despising the knowing twinkle in his eye, "But that doesn't mean Lily and James are going to die! Just because one thing happens the way it's supposed to doesn't mean everything will!"

Hermione pretended she wasn't trying to convince herself, that the desperation she heard in her own voice wasn’t for her benefit alone.

"What about the Prewett twins?" asked Dumbledore. There was nothing in his voice that suggested he was implying anything, but she knew what he was getting at. She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. "And Regulus Black? Did Miss McDonald die in your time-?"

"That doesn't mean _they're_ going to die!" Hermione stressed, and she wished her resolve didn't crack in her throat.

The silence that followed was ringing, and eerie, and she wished she could shatter it because her blood was pounding.

She swallowed and said, in a smaller voice, "Just because I failed to save those people doesn't mean I'm going to fail to save Lily and James. If we can kill Voldemort before October-"

She broke off, unable to finish her sentence. Hermione tried to smile but it was feeble and unconvincing.

Dumbledore just watched her, as she rubbed at her eyes in frustration. There was something akin to pity laced amongst his wizened face, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at him when he said, "This war is so much more than two people, Miss Granger.”

“Why is it that every time we talk,” she began in a quiet voice so it didn’t audibly break in the vastness of the office, “we argue about time, or this war, or how time will affect this war?”

He smiled, almost sadly, and said, “Because I am afraid, Miss Granger, that it is our shoulders that time, and this war, and how time will affect this war, must be carried on.” Hermione frowned at the perch by the dais, eyes softening as they traced Fawkes’ feathers, one by one, following his intricacies, and she thought how poetic it was, that beauty be born from the ashes of its previous destruction. Dumbledore said, “Why have you really come here, Miss Granger?”

Hermione swallowed. She pushed down any reservations she may have held and looked at him resolutely. She said, “I need your help.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and she elaborated.

“I need your help in killing Voldemort.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Guys, we are SO CLOSE to an end and I am so excited!! I cannot wait for you all to read what I have planned. All I can say is PLEASE TRUST ME!! I have it all under control and I love you guys so much and have put you through so much pain, please finish this story:)   
> If you people are not sated by this Avermione scene then I don’t know what will satisfy you because there is so much fluff, Avery is probably still having nightmares about how soppy he truly is. Aw, he’s so precious!! Before this fic, I honestly would’ve freaked out at the thought of the Hermione x Avery pairing but you guys have me converted and now I’m such a sucker for it (though I guess a large reason for that is because I have a MASSIVE soft spot for my Avery soooo…)  
> Anyway, I hope you are all well:) I go back to school in two days (CRIES FOR ETERNITY). Happy Halloween if I don’t manage to update before/during/after!!


	91. Chapter 91- The Stars

** Chapter 91- The Stars **

****

**July 1981**

****

They were going to kill Voldemort in November.

Hermione had protested, asking if they could do it sooner, if only to ensure that Lily and James lived, but Dumbledore had said that he was not finished with whatever he had started in Europe; that November was the earliest they could do it, if their plan was to go smoothly.

She neglected to point out that _'smooth'_ was not in their vocabulary.

As the weeks passed, the Order slowly learned to relax. They took their time to grieve, and this time, the radio silence was not eerie but comforting. There was a sense of finality to it all. Now that the Horcruxes were gone, and a plan to destroy Voldemort had been given a date, they all felt a weight lift from their shoulders.

That is, all of them apart from Hermione.

But even though she knew that it was inevitable, and that she wouldn’t be able to bask in the glory of freedom with them once November came and went, Hermione still let herself enjoy this solace.

That was the reason why she turned up on the doorstep of Godric’s Hollow at 8am on the 31st July, present in hand, feeling contentment down to her bones.

Lily opened the door and her smile was blinding. Her eyes were bright, like they had been on that day when she’d ghosted her fingertips down Hermione’s arm and told her that they could make this her home. Her hair had grown out and it was no longer chopped and uneven. Hermione felt herself falter, and she couldn’t help but smile at the woman stood before her. Lily finally looked happy. She finally looked whole.

“Hermione!” She greeted, and she pulled her into a tight embrace. She’d made good of her promise, Hermione realised, hugging her so closely that she could feel every intricate nerve and beat of her heart; Lily smelt like home.

When they parted, Lily held her cheeks in her hands and said, “You’re just in time! I’m trying to fish out Harry’s presents, so I’ve been forced to leave my child in the hands of a six-foot-something werewolf and a rat who, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, is actually a rat.”

Hermione laughed, stepping into the house. She said, “Why? Where’s James and Sirius?”

“James is doing something- God knows what- and Sirius has yet to return,” replied Lily, stopping at the foot of the stairs. She lowered her voice, "He turned up on our doorstep at the crack of dawn this morning."

Hermione's eyes widened. Even though she sounded irritated, the less than impressed look on Lily's face was marred by something soft and fond, and Hermione suspected she wasn't nearly as annoyed as what she pretended to be.

"Godfather of the year?" she commented jokingly.

"Tell me about it," Lily replied. "Harry was thrilled to see him. James even more so. Me? Not so much."

Hermione snorted, peering through into the living room when she heard a high-pitched giggle, followed by a squeak and an exasperated, "No Bambi! Come back-!"

The two girls shared a look. Lily announced abruptly, "Well! That's my cue to leave!" She got half way up the stairs before she turned round and added, after a moments thought, "Don't let them kill my son."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing at the witch's melodrama. She walked into the living room-

And stopped dead in her tracks. As it turned out, if anything, Lily hadn't been dramatic enough.

It looked like something (and by something, Hermione would have guessed an avalanche, or hurricane, or something of similar catastrophic destruction) had ravaged the room. The chairs were tipped on their backs, pillows and blankets lay strewn across the floor, along with baby toys and clothes, chaos littered throughout and, in the middle of it all, there was Harry, in nothing but a nappy, being held upside down by Remus, who was saying, "No. Harry. Look at me- no, actually, don't look at me, your baby eyes are far too tempting. Drop him. Come now, Harold. Don't play coy. Drop Wormtail. You're blowing bubbles so I know you can hear me-"

It was only then that Hermione realised that the squealing baby was in fact clutching a rat's tail. And no ordinary rat's tail either-

"Peter?!" She demanded incredulously.

Remus' head shot to look at her and he stopped shaking Harry by the leg. He exclaimed, in a voice breathless from relief, "Hermione! Oh thank God-"

"Now I see why Sirius was made Godfather," she commented to no one in particular, moving closer.

Hermione picked Harry up, turning him the right way up and he squealed in delight at the sight of her. She said, "Harry, give me the rat."

He obeyed, dropping it in her outstretched palm in favour of digging his hands into her curls, and Hermione let the rat down gently onto the settee. It scurried along the seat and then suddenly, Peter was sprawled across the cushions. He looked dishevelled and wide-eyed, and she laughed at the thankful grin he sent her.

Remus got to his feet, sorting his jumper out. He ran a hand through his frazzled hair and said, "I have honestly never been more grateful at your presence."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "After everything we've done together, I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

He had the decency to blush, grinning bashfully.

"Guess who's ba- fucking hell, what happened here?"

Sirius appeared in the doorway, looking far too pleased with himself. The three of them looked at him. Harry kicked his legs happily.

"Well," he surmised. "I can think of two possible scenarios that led to this kind of monstrosity. One is too rude to mention in front of my Godson." He held up a finger, dodging the pillow Peter threw at him for the insinuation. "The second is you all had a pillow fight and I was not invited! In which case, screw you!"

And he skilfully dived to retrieve the pillow on the floor, sending it flying across the room with the ease of a Beater. It hit Remus in the face, sliding down his body as if in slow motion. The werewolf closed his eyes exasperatedly.

"Where were you, anyway?" Hermione asked, as Sirius moved further into the room. He sat on Peter, who only half-protested.

“I was out being the best Godfather in the world,” he replied, grinning charmingly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I see, and what does that entail?”

Before he had chance to reply, Lily entered the room, James trailing behind her.

"Oh good, you're all here-” she broke off, eyes flitting around the room. In a low voice, she demanded, “What happened?”

“They had a pillow fight and didn’t invite us!” exclaimed Sirius incredulously. “Sort them out Lily-Flower! This is unacceptable.”

Lily rolled her eyes at him, reaching for Harry when he held out his little arms for her. James looked between them and asked dubiously, “You had a pillow fight without me?”

Nobody bothered to dignify him with an answer.

“You never told us,” said Peter abruptly, trying to roll over but failing since Sirius was still sat atop him. “Where did you go?”

“Oh,” Sirius jumped to his feet, and he swiped up the bag he had been carrying when he had arrived. There was something excitable about him, something impish and childlike, and he reached in slowly, dragging out every second.

When he revealed what he had bought, they all stared. After a moment's silence, Hermione said, "I stand corrected."

In Sirius’ hands, was a small toy broomstick. It was innocent and sweet, but scary enough to widen Lily’s eyes at the sight of it.

Harry didn’t seem to care much for the dangers, and he squealed, clapping his hands, bubbles leaving his lips two at a time in his excitement. Sirius was only too happy to acquiesce, taking him from his mother and kneeling on the floor beside him.

“I’m going to kill him,” said Lily, but James just laughed, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close into his side. She buried her head in his chest, watching through one eye.

Sirius tried to balance the broom and the baby, but struggled, so Remus sat beside him, holding the broomstick still whilst Sirius positioned Harry on it.

“Are you ready?” grinned Sirius, looking at them all. There was something excited and happy, twinkling in his eyes, and Hermione was reminded of the boy she fell on nearly two years ago. The boy whose brother was still alive, and whose biggest worry was his hair and how it looked in the sunlight. She hadn’t realised just how much she had missed him.

“Oh god,” Lily moaned. James just rubbed a hand up and down her arm in reassurance, but he was far too intrigued to let this pass.

And then Harry was away.

He only rose a foot or two above the ground, and the broomstick was cleverly charmed to keep his body upright, even if his chubby legs dangled off it, but he still managed to be a menace. He zoomed around the room, his laughter peeling after him. Remus fell back, leaning into the floor to avoid being flown into. James watched, pride painting every part of his face, and he tugged Lily closer, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Look,” he whispered.

Hesitantly, she did. Lily’s eyes softened, and her lips parted, as she watched her baby fly around the room. He giggled, screaming, waving his little fist at her and she waved back.

James shook his head slightly, soft and fond, and said, almost in disbelief, “We made that.”

Lily smiled up at him, kissing him tenderly, before leaning further into his side. He pressed his lips to her temple once more and whispered, _“We made that.”_

**oOoOoOo**

 It was much later on, when night had fallen, and the rest of the Order had arrived, that Hermione found herself slipping into the back garden.

Harry hadn’t left his toy broomstick for hours, but James didn’t seem to mind. He’d follow him round, ensuring he didn’t smash into any plants or the cat, affection oozing from every ounce of him. He’d always said his little boy would be the best Chaser in a century! Although, James acknowledged, he was fast… maybe he’d make a better Seeker.

Hermione let the cold air wash over her, lacing through her hair. Summer had arrived long ago, plunging them into a sticky state, but that didn’t stop the evenings from dropping cold, especially once a wind picked up.

She tried not to let it get to her but sometimes, when James would grin breathlessly, and Lily would get that look in her eyes, Hermione couldn’t help but remember what happened to them in the original timeline, and how fucking tragic it was that they should be destroyed, obliterated by their own love before life had even touched them-

She saw him, a dark outline against the meadow at the bottom of the garden, and made her way towards him.

When she got close enough, she said, “Hey.”

Remus looked at her in surprise. “Oh. Hello.”

Hermione smiled at him, but didn’t say anything else. She just stared over the brick wall.

“He loves that broomstick, doesn’t he?” Remus said, lips tilted in a half-smirk, as a wave of laughter escaped from the house. This was followed by a loud crash.

She said, without thinking, “McGonagall makes him Seeker before Christmas in his first year.”

Remus looked at her in surprise, a hint of awe mingled there. “But I thought that was against the rules?”

“He was that good she changed them,” said Hermione, shooting him a small smile. Remus shook his head, a wondrous laugh dripping from his lips. They fell into silence once more, and she felt the question eating away at her.

"I need to ask you something," she said suddenly, and the smile on his face was dry but amused.

"Oh dear," Remus said. "Nothing good ever comes from that phrase."

"How did you know it would work?" Hermione asked, cutting straight to it. "Killing him."

There was no elaboration needed. They both knew who the 'him' in question referred to. Remus stared at her for a moment, smile fading fast, before his eyes found something in the distance, glassy and unseeing as he cast himself back. The shadow that passed over his face was darker than she'd ever seen it. Nevertheless, he answered.

"Because I knew that if he died... I'd have run away too. The only difference was I'm the one that killed him."

Hermione didn't say anything, merely watched him. He tilted his head towards her but didn't look at her completely when he said, "Does that make me a bad person? I don't know anymore."

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "You did the right thing. Last time I checked, doing the right thing made you a hero."

"I don't feel like a hero," he told her. "I can't help but worry about what will happen to the pack now that Greyback is gone. He was a bad man but he was a good leader, fair."

Hermione tried to stifle her snort but failed and Remus finally looked at her. His eyes were bright and amber.

"I know you don't believe me," he said. "But it's true... He may have been a monster, but somehow he made me feel less monstrous around him."

Hermione watched him, listening, and she dared not breathe in case she disrupted this moment. The honesty was poisonous and it was oozing out of his lips, like dribble.

Remus asked, "What about that? Does that make me a bad person? Missing the company of the person I killed? Because he made me feel less like a monster?"

She didn’t know what to say to him.

"Have you spoken to Sirius about this?" Hermione asked quietly.

Remus didn't look at her, but shook his head. He played with a wobbly stone on the wall. "I don't want him to think-"

She frowned, prompting gently, "Think what?"

"That I regret it," he said. "That I wouldn't do it again in a heartbeat."

"Would you?"

He looked at her then. "Does it matter?"

She didn’t reply.

His eyes slid to her. "Why do you want to know now?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know," she said. "It's just I realised he was more to you... And, you've had to grieve Dorcas, and try and even entertain the idea of going back to normal that you haven't really had chance to grieve him." She looked at him, and said sincerely, "Sirius would understand. If it means anything to you, he'd understand. Or at least, try to."

Remus stared at her, then cast his gaze out across the meadow, a ragged sigh leaving his lips. “I did it because I had to. Because I wanted all the fighting and death to be over, and I know that sounds counterproductive but it worked, didn’t it?

“All I know is that at that moment, the only thing I could think was that my friends were in that house, with an army of werewolves… and they might not make it out. And I think he knew... You should've seen the way he looked at me... He looked at me and-” His eyes glazed over, memory clouding his mind. When he broke out of his trance, he swallowed. He looked at her, fraying at the edges, but he was still whole, because he knew he would survive this. “Have you ever had to do something that was so difficult, so self-destructive… to save the people you love?”

Hermione could only stare at him because his words rang truer than he could possibly imagine. She said, almost bitterly, “Or to end a war.”

"So it is over?" Remus said hopefully, breathlessly. His bright eyes were wide and fixed on her. “All we have to do is kill Voldemort and we’ve done it… We’ve won the war?”

Hermione wanted to tell him it was over. She wanted, more than anything, to confirm the hope he was looking at her with, to tell him that everything would end now and they would finally get the childhood they deserved, and, what’s more, they’d get it together-

But she felt the niggling inside of her, that darkness gnawing at her insides, and she found she couldn't lie to him. Not anymore-

The truth lodged, bitter-tasting and thick, in her throat.

“Yes,” she said. Remus let out a breath of free air, and it trickled from his lips in relief. He couldn’t stop grinning and Hermione tried to smile at him, but it hurt too much. “It’s over.”

**oOoOoOo**

Marlene stood in the corner of the room. She had a paper plate in one hand, with a half-eaten chocolate cake on, as she surveyed the people there. Caradoc and Benjy were laughing at something Lily said, whilst she bounced Harry on her hip. The baby, however, seemed far more interested in the cat, which had somehow gotten onto the fireplace. She smiled softly, before repositioning her gaze onto the next people; Alice and Frank were swaying together, a sleeping Neville snuggled between them. She moved on. Emmeline looked as empty as Marlene felt. She knew she should probably say something to her, but all words of condolence fell flat on her tongue, so she kept quiet.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, coming to stand beside her. He looked awkward and bashful, like he was scared she was going to hit him or spit something nasty to get him to leave.

Marlene just sighed. “I’m fine.”

He looked at her, and those pale blue eyes of his had never seemed so clear to her. She wondered when he had obtained the wisdom she saw swimming in them. Before she could really ponder on it, Marlene refocused on the people in the room. She didn’t want him to stare into her eyes and see the emptiness residing there, so she pretended he wasn’t there.

Peter played along at first, standing in silence with a cup of Butterbeer in hand.

“I know what it’s like,” he said suddenly, and she looked at him with pursed lips, wishing he wouldn’t talk about it. Peter recognised the pain in her eyes but continued nevertheless. “And I want to let you know that it does get better. Even though right now it will hurt, and it will hurt for a long time, and out of the blue sometimes… One day you’ll be able to look back and see the happiness. And you’ll wonder why it took you so long to learn to appreciate her life, and not just her role in yours.”

Marlene swallowed, looking away from him hastily, because her eyes had begun to tear up and her throat felt dry and scratchy.

“I don’t-”

“Want to talk about it,” Peter finished for her. “I know. But you’ve got to realise that not wanting to talk about it means not wanting to talk about her… And Dorcas was too brilliant a person for you to forget.”

And Peter just sent her a smile, small and seemingly simple, but Marlene felt her bones tremble from the gesture. She knew he was right, and before he could walk away again, she put her arms around him and burrowed her head into his neck. He held her back, and she didn’t cry, just squeezed him tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

**oOoOoOo**

“Sirius!”

The boy in question turned round, eyebrows raised, and James squeezed through the living room door and into the hallway. The quietness absorbed them, absconding them of reality for just a moment, even though reality was just a few steps away. He seemed uncertain about something, and Sirius felt his face pull into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry gnawing at him.

“Nothing,” James replied. “I just-” he licked his lips nervously. “I just wanted to apologise. For how I acted when we were on the mission.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes in confusion. He shook his head slightly. “James, what are you talking about?”

“I was really harsh on you,” continued James, eyes wide and earnest. “And I just want to say sorry. You fought really well and I-I shouldn’t have torn you apart because of that.”

Realisation flooded through him, and Sirius said, “No. James, I-”

“Wait, just- just listen, Sirius, okay?” Sirius fell silent. There was something about James’ voice that made him unable to interrupt. James said, fumbling for his words, but never losing that intensity in his eyes, “It’s just, when you start fighting recklessly… And you act like you don’t care about living or dying, it- it scares the shit out of me, Sirius. Hell, it does more than that." He paused, swallowing, because he had to get the words out. "Because the truth is… You’re my brother. And I need you, and I love you, and frankly, I don’t want to live in a world without you. Not ever.”

He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were wet, and all Sirius could do was step forward in silence and hug his brother. James gripped him tightly.

"It's over now," said Sirius in his ear. He stepped back, shoving his arm gently and shooting him a watery grin. "We're gonna get to grow old together and be those cool pensioners in leather jackets and mopeds. We're gonna stay together. Forever. ‘Cause we're brothers, like you said. And nothing can tear us apart. Nothing ever will.”

When they heard the door open, Sirius looked over his shoulder and grinned as Hermione walked towards them.

“And where have you been?” he asked her teasingly.

She came to a stop beside them, smiling, and said, “I was just checking on Remus.”

Sirius’ eyes grew solemn, and he looked past her. “He’s outside?”

“Yes,” replied Hermione.

Sirius looked back at them, sending them a dazzling smile. His eyes found James and softened, before he said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

James just nodded, but he watched him until the moment he disappeared through the door. Hermione noticed. A slight frown pulled at her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

James looked at her, something startlingly open about him, and he said, “Do you really think it’s over?”

Hermione felt her face drop but before she could say anything, he continued, “When you first told us you were from the future, you said I was betrayed by someone. You never told me who, and I never asked and- I know there must be good reason for that. So I- I was thinking…” he stared at her, eyes searing and she couldn’t look away. “I want you to be our Secret Keeper as well. I trust Sirius. With my life. With Harry’s life. But he’s the obvious choice and you’ve already done so much to keep us alive that I- _we_ , want it to be you as well.”

“James, I-” she began, so shocked that she couldn’t speak.

“I just can’t live like this for much longer, Hermione,” said James, his voice strained. “I don't want to feel this anymore. I don't want to be trapped in my mind or my house. I want to live again. I just want to see the light one more time.”

Hermione swallowed, and she blinked away any tears that wet her eyes. She felt her heart tear in her chest, breaking away from all the intricate nerves and arteries that made the rest of her function. A laugh escaped through the doorway of the living room, and James’ eyes snagged on Lily, who was twirling round, with Harry in her arms. They were both laughing, smiling like they were free.

“Remember when I promised you that I’d watch him grow up?” James whispered, not waiting for her to reply, his voice cracking in the silence. Hermione nodded silently. “I mean it. I never thought I’d mean it this much but _Merlin_ , I do.”

**oOoOoOo**

When everyone had gone home, or fallen asleep, and the world seemed quiet, James sat on the roof on Godric’s Hollow, breathing in the summer air, inhaling it like it was the last taste of freedom he would ever get. He cradled Harry closer to him, pressing a sweet kiss to his head, and the baby gargled incomprehensibly.

"And see that one?" James said quietly, securing his arm more tightly around Harry so he could point out one of the stars. "That really bright one? That's Uncle Padfoot. He's going to be taking care of you if- if something bad happens. Him and Auntie Mione. They love you so so much, almost as much as mummy and I do."

James broke off, and his eyes found the stars, and he remembered staring at them on his first night at Hogwarts and making a wish.

He remembered the day he had seen Sirius’ hidden bruises, and when he found out Peter was being bullied, and when he discovered Remus was a werewolf. He remembered setting eyes on Lily Evans for the first time.

He remembered the first day of the war, where he had looked at the stars and wished they would all be okay.

James closed his eyes, tucking Harry further into his lap.

 “I’m going to live for you,” he whispered.

_I wish I can live for you._


	92. Chapter 92

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m going to say this now because, by the end of the chapter, you will not want to vote for me. But I’ve been nominated (God knows how!!) for the Marauder Medals in two categories!! The Best Characterisation of Sirius and the Best Characterisation for a Non-Marauder (Avery)! Can you believe it?? Avery got nominated!
> 
> It’s so so crazy! I can’t even believe it. It’s unreal because I never thought anyone would ever even bother to read this fanfiction, never mind nominate it for anything! Voting ends on the 30th November so I’ll keep you updated!
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading this story, and to those who review. I absolutely love all of you. You make my day:)
> 
> Sorry for the long delay for this chapter. My laptop broke (INTO PIECES) but my dad managed to fix it! Thank God for fathers with electronic skills, eh?
> 
> Anyway, I spent a long time on this one to try and do it justice. I hope it’s good enough for them.
> 
>    
>  

 

** Chapter 92 **

**August 1931**

The evening wind laced through his hair, enveloping him as soon as he stepped outside. It was odd, Sirius thought, wrapping his arms around himself, how even the summer seemed colder following the war.

It was true that they all felt a coldness deep in their bones; one which they couldn’t shake off, or wait with hope that it would thaw away. It had changed them. It was a coldness that grew in the empty places, the places where people should be. But somehow, and for some reason, those places were gaping and deep, and they each tried to cram their gaps with happiness and other people and laughs that sometimes tore their throats they were so forced, and it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. But Sirius felt his fractures stop weeping when he was with his family, and it might not be enough to mend his holes, or make him whole again, but it would be one day.

His dark eyes locked on the figure at the bottom of the garden, and he made his way down to meet him. His coldness melted a little.

“Hey,” Sirius said when he got close enough, stopping beside him and staring out at the meadow.

Remus glanced at him, and there was something drawing his eyebrows together when he asked, “Did Hermione send you?”

At this, Sirius frowned. He leaned against the stone wall. “No, I was looking for you. Why? Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

He pretended that Remus’ answer wasn’t as hasty as he heard it.

_“No.”_

But Sirius didn’t comment.

“I think I hit the nail on the head with that broomstick,” he said instead, grinning widely. Remus scoffed.

 _“I_ think Lily is going to kill you,” he replied, raising his eyebrows, but a wry smile curled his lips. Sirius felt his eyes drawn to it.

“Oh well,” Sirius shrugged. “At least I’ll go down in history as the _Best Godfather Ever.”_

Remus rolled his eyes and said sceptically, “I’m not sure that’s a thing.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll make it a thing once they get a statement off Harry,” he replied charmingly.

“A statement consisting of goo’s and ga’s? Yes, I’m sure that’s reason enough to create an entirely new award just for you.”

Sirius rested his chin on his hand and regarded him for a minute, before he said finally, “You must try to be less sarcastic. It hurts people.”

Remus just snorted, but he cast his eyes out across the meadow. Sirius continued to watch him.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“I know you are,” replied Remus, and a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth and Sirius felt incredulity rise up inside of him. He spluttered indignantly, but all Remus did was raise his eyebrows, his innocence contaminated by a smirk.

Sirius pressed his lips together and shook his head. He felt his resolve drop, however, when his eyes traced the shadows of Remus’ face.

In a quieter voice, he said, “Do you remember my twelfth birthday? I hadn’t told you, or Peter, or James, and yet James found out anyway. He owled his Mother, and that night, you decorated the dorm and collected as much as you could and the presents Ma had sent, and you threw a party. It was just the four of us. We hadn’t even known each other two months and yet it was the first time I ever felt like I had a family.”

Remus looked at him, and there was something soft and delicate in his gaze. He daren’t not speak though. The two just stared at each other.

“Remus," Sirius said quietly and so suddenly that it seemed to fracture the serenity of the night.

"What?" he whispered back, finding his voice.

"I think I know what love means."

Remus paused. He remembered their argument about that and it seemed so long ago, like something he had to dig up from the chaos of the past. He didn’t look away.

"And what does it mean?"

Sirius didn't speak for a while, and Remus was about to say something when he said, "It's not dying for someone. It's living for them. It's loving someone so much that you'd do anything to make it back to them. I get it now."

Remus was quiet for a moment, before he replied, “I think you always knew that. Deep down. Somewhere. Otherwise you would’ve been lost a long time ago."

Sirius felt his breath stick in his throat, and Remus gave him a small smile. He raised his eyebrows, and his voice was unbelievably simple when he said, "Have you never noticed that you always make it back to me?”

Sirius cast his eyes back out across the darkness of the night, eyes skimming the overgrown flowers. He could hear Remus breathing next to him and he realised he was right. They had fought and been wrenched apart by things worse than war, and yet here they were, standing at the same stone wall, staring at the same sky, breathing the same air. Because, like Remus said, they always made their way back to one another in the end.

**oOoOoOo**

**October 1981**

The wintry wind that whistled along the street made the cusp of November all the more noticeable.

Hermione wrapped her coat tighter around herself, and her breath escaped her lips, forming a small globe of white in the air. There was something quiet about Godric’s Hollow, and try as she might, her body seemed to reject this newfound serenity. Every inch of her was on high-alert, all the time. She felt like she was electrified, but she supposed that’s what war did to you. How could you finally try to be happy, when you knew it could all be wrenched away from you in a heartbeat?

She stopped when she reached the gate, her eyes trailing up the ivy that warmed the house. A small smile curled her lips. It was odd how the first time she had ever seen this place, it was a ruin, yet now it was the only place she could call home.

She’d been visiting them every day lately, calling in for a quick cup of tea, or often even staying the night, sleeping soundly on their settee from the mere knowledge that they were sleeping just above her head. Dumbledore had set the date for the mission to kill Voldemort, but Hermione hadn’t been sated by his lateness. Therefore, this time next week, when the 31st October finally arrived, Lily and James would be in another safe house, sleeping not quite as soundly as they had been doing, but safer than they could possibly imagine.

The thought filled Hermione with warmth, and she allowed herself to bask in the small trickle of victory that coursed through her veins. She had saved them. They would not die on Halloween night, slaughtered in their own home, betrayed by their own heart, victims to a never-ending darkness. She wondered how different Harry would be, growing up with a mother and father.

Hermione pushed open the gate, walking down the little pathway, and her body tingled at the yellow light seeping through the slit in the curtains. She couldn’t wait to sit in front of the fire, with the people she loved. It was where she belonged. It was where they all belonged; with each other.

As she lifted her hand up to knock, she froze.

The door was ajar.

Something dropped inside of her, something heavy and sick. Every hair on her body stood on end. She could hear her heart throbbing. Hermione cast a glance over her shoulder, and the street seemed suddenly dark. The pumpkins in every windowsill blurred, their grins tainted and leering. Her breath caught in her throat- they still had a few days left. It was never meant to be tonight. Halloween was just around the corner, looming but untouched as of yet.

Lily and James were meant to be alive tonight.

Without bothering to get her wand out, she pushed the door open and stepped into the house. It closed with a click behind her, and the heat enveloped her but there was nothing comforting about it. It was smothering, like being burned alive.

Something cracked under her foot, and she stepped back. The small picture of Harry, zooming around on his toy broomstick which self-proclaimed _Best Godfather of the Year_ had given him just months ago, was lying on the floor. The glass was splintered, but that didn't stop the baby from giggling at the camera, reaching out to her.

Hermione heard her breathing, loud in her ears, as she reached down and picked it up. She whispered a _Reparo_ , holding the photograph for a moment longer.

That day seemed so long ago, and the fleeting feeling of getting so drunk on happiness you were blinded, felt like an old and distant memory. She remembered everyone's smiles, and how each one reached their eyes- she could almost hear their laughter ring around the house-

Almost.

The house was silent now.

She placed the frame back on the set of drawers, rubbing her thumb across Harry's faded cheek.

Her heart was still erratic in her chest, fluttering nervously. The silence threatened to press down on her, suffocate her, and she tried to ignore the way the light swung from the ceiling, casting leering shadows against the wall.

Hermione tried to say something, but her throat felt tight and closed up. She swallowed. The emptiness of Godric's Hollow unnerved her. It was not meant to be this empty. It was meant to be teeming with life, decadent and infinite. But there was nothing.

She opened her mouth to call his name, but stopped. Her eyes locked on the bottom of the stairs, and it was like everything magnified; the fast pounding of her heart, beating so hard against her ribcage she was sure it would splinter her bones, the echoing silence of the house, the whirring of her brain-

That was when the world stopped.

He somehow managed to look peaceful even in death. There was a tenderness to him, a youth, that marred his pale skin and smudged the shadows of his face.

His hair was all over the place, and his glasses were, for once, straight on his nose, not wonky or broken. One arm swung from the step, the other draped over his stomach.

Hermione could only stare at him. Every part of her body felt numb and heavy and she hated the fact that, even in death, James somehow managed to look kind.

She tried to take a step towards him, but her legs shook and she dropped to her knees.

" _James_ ," she whispered. His name broke in the air, fractured because there was no one to respond to it, no one to even hear it.

With trembling but desperate hands, Hermione reached out. She wanted to touch him, just to check, just to make sure that there was no warmth left in his pallid cheeks, no pulse quivering in his neck, but her hands froze by his cheek.

What if he was cold? What if there was no pulse to quiver?

What if the boy with the wonky smile and the wonky glasses, and the bright eyes which always seemed to reassure her that everything was alright-

What if the boy who had fallen in love the minute he'd met Lily Evans, the one who'd loved her for a lifetime, and twirled her around the fairy-lit room at their wedding-

What if the boy who'd fought, and fought _hard_ , who'd stared Death in the eye and defied him, time after time, if only to live for his baby-

What if James was dead?

_What then?_

Hermione slowly ghosted her fingers along his cheek, brushing away the frozen tears, catching the ones that snagged on his eyelashes. His face was so cold, so unmoving and it was the emptiest she'd ever seen him. There was no joy eager to burst out, no sunbeams to shine from his smile or explode from his lips when he laughed and it was jarring.

How could someone so full of life be so devoid of it? How could James Potter, so _young_ , so _free_ , so _invincible_... be _dead?_

It didn't make sense, and her head ached. It felt like some horrible dream, and she wished she could wake up. She needed to wrench herself from this nightmare because everything she'd ever feared was lying in front of her. This couldn’t be real _\- it wasn’t real_ -

But it was. Hermione felt her resolve crumble, and she whispered again, longingly, pleadingly, " _James_."

He didn't reply. Didn't even stir.

He was a bundle of intricate nerves and bounding heart, of courage brewed in the face of death, sewn through skull and bone and hazel eyes and a crooked smile, and he was dead. Gone.

There was nothing left. Hermione closed her eyes, squeezed them shut. It felt like she was exploding with how empty everything was. Nothing seemed in focus, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Her breath came out as a sob, guttural and raw, so pained it made her throat sore. Her heart was still beating overbearingly hard against her chest, and she wondered whether it was trying to escape her flesh and bone body. There was no place for it there, not when James' was still and unmoving in his chest just inches away.

Hermione leaned down, gingerly, slowly, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. She could feel the stinging of her eyes but she didn't open them. Everything was too much in that moment; it was like an explosion of nothing, like a supernova of emptiness. There was nothing but the coldness of his skin against her lips, and she wished it would be enough to bring him back. But it wasn't. Her love could not save him. It hadn't done.

Because he was lying on the floor, as dead as the first time.

**_"You're enough now."_ **

_Am I?_ Hermione thought, pulling back, and she brushed some hair away from his face, where it had fallen. _I wasn't enough to save you. I wish I could've saved you._

 _"I'm so sorry,"_ she whispered, and her head dropped to his chest. She clutched at him, fingers fisting his shirt. "I'm so sorry. I love you... Please, come back! I'm sorry!"

Her words rang around the house but there was no reply. He didn't jump up and start singing Quidditch songs. He didn't look at her with those kind eyes that made her feel like she was okay, and everything would be okay, even as the world was falling apart around them. He didn't tell her she was enough, or hold her close and kiss her temple, or make her feel like she was home and she was loved.

He didn't do any of those things. James just laid there, cold and dead and empty.

He was gone.

Hermione felt her heart pounding in her chest, but she couldn’t think clearly. Her mind was blank. For once, it seemed it wasn’t working.

There was a noise upstairs, and she wiped her nose on her sleeve. She had to tear her eyes away from his young face, and it felt like she'd been stabbed, but she forced herself to get to her feet.

She stepped over him, and the sob trickled past her lips. She'd just stepped over the body of her best friend.

Hermione didn't even bother to draw her wand. If Voldemort was upstairs, waiting for her, then so be it. He could kill her for all she cared. There was nothing left now.

She slowly ascended the steps, wiping at her eyes, but it was futile. She just kept crying, silent tears that scorched her skin. When she reached the top, it was clear which room the noise had come from. There was only one door open, at the end of the hallway, spilling poisoned light onto the carpet.

Hermione walked closer, numb to everything, but the thrum of undeserved and stolen life in her. Her body pounded with it.

She got to the doorway, and everything slipped from underneath her feet. Lily’s green eyes, as bright and vivacious as they had been the day she’d met her, skimmed the carpet, unseeing.

_“I know it’s not the same. I know it’s not even remotely the same, but if you want, you can join our family. We can make this your home. And it’s not much, but-”_

_She seemed to realise she was rambling, for she cut off suddenly._

_And Hermione had to bite her lip to contain her sob, because in Lily’s emerald eyes, earnest and kind, she saw Harry._

_Softly, Hermione said, “I’d like that.”_

_And Lily smiled._

But she wasn't smiling now. Hermione had seen a lot of dead people in her life, but she didn't think she'd ever seen two as jarring as Lily and James. It was like staring at a black hole when there should be a galaxy there... staring at death when there should be nothing but life.

Hermione stepped into the room, and though her knees were trembling, she dropped to them with a little more numbness and control than she'd had before. She brushed her fingers through Lily's fiery hair, before lifting her head and lying it gently on her lap.

There was a tear, frozen, on her cold cheek, and Hermione wiped it tenderly away. The silence of the room was disconcerting. Lily should be laughing, or telling her to stop being silly, crying so much, or just _existing,_ as loudly and beautifully as she always had done. But she wasn’t, because she was as dead as her husband. With only 21 years trapped inside of her, and so much life _wasted_ ahead…

Hermione couldn’t bite the sound back; she wailed, and the sound tapered off, ending in a scream that burned her lungs. It hurt so much. Everything was boiling up inside of her, and it _hurt-_

“I did that too.”

She whipped around, another scream, this one alarmed, catching in her throat. Her heart was freshly fuelled with fear, beating erratically, but it calmed at the sight of Sirius. His face was pink and raw, his voice strained, like he’d been screaming. His eyes were hollow and dark, and he was sitting in the corner of the room, holding Harry’s hand through the bars of his crib to shush him.

“ _Sirius_ ,” Hermione breathed, and the despair clogged her throat.

“I didn’t really do anything at first,” Sirius continued. “I saw him on the floor, and… the world just dropped away. You know? But I heard Harry crying and I couldn’t do anything but stop and close his eyes, straighten his glasses… He always hated it when his glasses weren’t straight… And then I stepped over his body.” He swallowed thickly. He was staring off into space, and there was something haunting about the way he looked. “I stepped over my brother’s body.”

“I did that too,” she whispered.

Sirius blinked, and his eyes focused on her. They dropped to Lily, still half-lying on her lap. “And then I saw Lily. She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she? They both do… Is that right? Are they- are they supposed to look like that?”

Hermione didn’t reply. She couldn’t. She wanted to tell him that they weren’t even supposed to be dead, never mind look like that.

"I thought you could save them," he said numbly. “I thought we’d all grow old together.”

Hermione felt the emptiness of his voice stab her, and she wished he would sound accusing or angry. But he sounded neither of those things. Sirius Black sounded broken. 

She whispered, " _So did I."_

She started crying again, silent tears, biting back sobs so hard she felt her lip bleed. Sirius watched her. He was still holding Harry’s hand, shaking it slightly to stop him from crying too. His head dropped, and when he looked back at her, he held out his hand, beckoning her closer. Hermione didn’t hesitate; she placed Lily back on the floor, softly, lovingly, careful not to disrupt her, before kissing her forehead. When she drew back, she ran her thumb along Lily’s cold cheek, because it was so hard to believe she wasn’t just sleeping. Sirius was right- she looked so peaceful.

Hermione took his hand, and he tugged her closer. She sat on the floor next to him, curling into his side, clutching him tightly and she couldn’t get over how warm he was, compared to how cold James had been; how the beat of his heart was steady and loud in her ears, where James’ had been still. She could feel his tears fall on her face, and they stayed like that, sitting in the corner of the room, as if they were the only two people on the planet.

She remembered the way James had looked, draped over the stairs, cold and silent when he had always been warm and loud, and she didn’t look, though she remembered Lily’s emptiness when she had always been bright and beautiful. Hermione couldn’t stand it.

The world had yet to continue. It was still frozen, whether in shock at what it had lost, or simply because there was no point in it continuing now, she didn’t know.

She clutched Sirius closer, and his tight grip on her waist was the only thing binding her to life.

_I wish I could’ve saved you._

It was all she could think.

_Why couldn’t I save you?_

**oOoOoOo**

_The gazebo was exploding with laughter, reaching the low peaks and bursting through the slits in the marquee. Spring lay thick and sweet on the air, blowing free dandelion tufts for the bride and groom. Light trickled in, hoping to catch a glance of the beautiful young couple, who were swaying on the dancefloor, unwilling to break away from one another. Their light shed on everyone present, and their happiness was palpable on the air._

_If you were to ask James Potter when he fell in love with Lily Evans, he would not be able to answer you straight away. It wasn’t that he didn’t know- he did. James could recall every small and insignificant detail off of the top of his head about the very first moment he realised it, and the many times after that he fell a little bit deeper._

_It was just that there were so many moments beyond that first night, when he’d laid in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, too scared to sleep because the butterflies in his stomach were fluttering more erratically than the stars he could see through the big window._

_It was the time Lily had smiled at him, hesitantly but genuinely, from across the classroom when he had defended her blood status, claiming that it didn’t matter, and what did Mulciber know? She was more a witch than he ever would be a wizard- her grades alone were proof to that! He’d gotten a black eye for it afterwards, and she had taken him to the Hospital Wing and stayed to make sure he was alright. She’d even held his hand. He hadn’t commented on how perfectly their hands fit together, but James was pretty sure she’d noticed, if only for the way she had run her thumb across his knuckles repeatedly._

_Although no one had ever been punished for it, Mulciber had turned up to breakfast the next day with swollen skin and a multi-coloured rash that not even Madam Pomfrey could cure. James had had his suspicions and he seemed right about them for when he looked at Lily, he saw her innocently cutting up her bacon as though nothing was out of place. The smirk curling her lips was barely visible and the butterflies in his stomach went wild._

_Could butterflies do backflips? He imagined them doing backflips._

_It was the time he had found her crying by the Black Lake because her sister refused to associate with her and had called her a freak. James had only met Petunia once, during the summer after their seventh year when Lily’s parents hosted a get-together. She had been there with her fiancée, a large elephant-like Muggle by the name of Vernon. They hadn’t been there long when a snide comment was passed and James’ wand slipped, causing Vernon to go head-first into the cheesecake._

**_He had stood up and said calmly, “I’m terribly sorry for ruining your desert, Mrs Evans.”_ **

**_“Oh,” Mrs Evans replied, shocked into speechlessness. “I’ve never really liked cheesecake all that much anyway…”_ **

_When they left, Lily was holding onto James’ hand tightly. She had been uncharacteristically quiet and he tried to gauge her reaction as he apologised, but she just stopped and looked at him._

**_“You’re bloody brilliant,” she’d told him bluntly. “You know that?”_ **

_James hadn’t known how to reply and so he didn’t say a word, just let Lily continue to drag him down the street and the butterflies started up again._

_It was the time a doe, as beautiful as its castor, bounded around the room, and the strange feeling he’d felt, like all the butterflies in his stomach could not do anything but watch. They didn’t even quiver. There was an awe that ran as deep as his bones when he’d realised that Lily’s soul matched his perfectly._

_It was the time when they’d twirled around the fairy-lit marquee at their wedding, laughing and smiling because their happiness could not be contained to their bodies. And when she’d held his hand tightly and never once let go when his Mother and Father fell ill, and then again when they were no longer on the planet. The time when they’d spent the whole night in the bathroom, talking, sitting in silence, him holding her hair when she threw up, and rubbing her back when she cried, all the while whispering words of comfort. The time when they both sat on their living room floor, crying and breathless, and Lily held their baby boy, and all he could think was ‘ **Merlin, I love these people. I love my family. And**_ **my God _, do I love her.’_**

_But where does it end?_

_Here?_

_Then?_

Now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so so sorry. But you’ll see why I had to do this. Just wait- I have a few tricks up my sleeve!


	93. Chapter 93- The Immortals

** Chapter 93- The Immortals **

 

They stayed like that until they heard a noise downstairs. Hermione jumped, but Sirius didn’t move. It was almost like he’d given up, like he’d resigned himself to whatever fate he was destined to, like Death could walk through the door and he’d go without a fight.

It frightened her; that mentality always had, but it was more profound now. She couldn’t lose anyone else.

Her hand curled round to her pocket, and she gripped her wand. There was no drive to her, but Hermione would be damned if she let anyone take the only thing she had left.

The footsteps were heavy, and the floorboards of the hallway creaked as the person made their way closer to where she and Sirius were sat. Hermione felt her throat stick, as the footsteps stopped, just outside the doorway. Then, they entered the room.

“ _Hagrid?”_

Her breath came out as a rush of relieved air, as the half-giant lumbered into the room. His eyes were pink and bloated, and he rubbed a moleskin sleeve along his nose, sniffing loudly. He was stooped low, and his head skimmed the light, dangling from the ceiling.

Hagrid looked at them in surprise, but his expression quickly faded, and the sadness there was unbearable. Somehow, seeing him here made the situation all the more _real_. It was like the real world was intruding on her nightmare, when it wasn’t supposed to. Hermione swallowed, getting to her feet.

The two of them just stared at each other, and there was a silent conversation in the sorrow of their eyes. After a moment, she walked forwards and wrapped her arms around him. He was warm, and soft, and his large arms came up to hug her back. She felt like the trembling Second Year, safe in his arms after Malfoy had called her a Mudblood for the first time. There was the same worthlessness to her, the same fragility of her twelve year old self. She had recovered from that, though. She didn’t know whether it was possible for her to recover from this.

Hermione heard his muffled sobs. When they pulled away, she noticed that Sirius had stood up too. He was behind her, and there was nothing warm in the look he gave the Groundskeeper.

“What are you doing here, Hagrid?” he asked in a low, raspy voice.

Hermione heard the warning, the growl, and she looked at him carefully. Hagrid drew himself to his full height, and said, “Am ‘ere fer Dumbledore. I need to take ‘Arry away from ‘ere.”

The effect was instantaneous. Sirius drew his wand. He looked crazed, more like the madman Hermione had seen in the papers; the one with the wild eyes, and the ragged hair, who had just escaped Azkaban. But there was a calmness to him, as well. It was unnerving. He was like that supernova she had always thought him as; an incendiary collision of everything _opposite_ and _conflicting_.

“He’s our Godson,” Sirius said quietly. “He’s not Dumbledore’s to take.”

Hermione interjected quickly, “Sirius is right, Hagrid. It’s okay. We’ll look after him. He’s ours now.”

Hagrid looked at her, and there was apprehension in his dark eyes. She felt something churn inside of her at the hesitation flickering there, and she felt sick. He wrung his hands together. “’Ermione… I’ve got my orders.”

“I know,” she replied coolly, and even she was taken aback by the tone of her voice. “And I’ve got mine. I promised Lily and James before they died that I would look after him if anything happened. I’m not letting Dumbledore take that away from me. Not when-”

_He’s taken away everything else._

Hagrid shook his head sadly. He started forward- small, slow steps. “I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry.”

He continued walking, and Sirius lifted his wand higher. He was clutching it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Hermione felt her heart in her chest, as though it was trying to break free and intervene, and she was surprised her ribcage was still intact after everything she had put it through tonight. She saw it coming before the spell left his lips, and, without thinking, pushed herself into him. The spell ricocheted off the ceiling, and the red light was blinding. They barrelled into the wall; Hermione was pressed against Sirius, their chests flat against one another’s, his breath harsh and ragged in her ears. She pulled back so that she could look at him, and it broke her heart. He had his eyes clenched shut, squeezed tightly together, and he was crying silently.

She heard Hagrid leave the room, heard Harry’s babbling grow quiet, but she didn’t dare look. Hermione brought her shaking hands up to hold Sirius’ face. She whispered forcefully, “I’m going to get us our baby, okay?” He didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes. She felt desperation coil inside of her, but she swallowed it back so her voice wouldn’t break. “Sirius, are you listening to me? I’m going to get us our Harry.”

Somehow, Hermione managed to get him back out of the house, without walking him past their bodies again. She apparated him to the street, by the Churchyard, and told him to wait there until she got back. All she got in reply was a short nod, but Sirius still didn’t look at her. She wished he would. There was a coldness to the street, a wind that took her breath away, and she didn’t know whether it was the oncoming winter or just the sharpness of reality. Either way, she cast a warming charm over Sirius just to be safe.

Hermione knew where Hagrid would’ve taken Harry, and she apparated there with only a moment’s hesitation where she looked back at Sirius. He did not look at her, and so, she left.

Although she had only ever been to Privet Drive once, there was something eerily different about it this time. It was almost as though the street was quieter, like it had no idea what the future had in store for it.

_If only you knew._

He was stood where she expected; just at the very edge of number 12’s garden. The street light was out above his head, leaving him a tall figure in the darkness. She vaguely pondered on how ironic that was.

"You knew they were going to die," she called. Her voice wasn't accusatory, but weak and cracked. She stared at some point behind him, because she knew the pity she would see if she looked at him was genuine. She knew it would break her, as if she wasn't already broken.

"I wanted to spare you the heartbreak," Dumbledore replied, stepping into the light flooding from the other street lights, and she believed him because the shadows that framed his face were dark, and he sounded miserable and heavy.

“They weren’t supposed to die tonight,” was all Hermione could say, in a pathetic and belated attempt to salvage any grappled hope.

Dumbledore merely regarded her through those blue eyes and the sorrow laced through them made the hope dim and die in her heart. “But they were still supposed to die, Miss Granger,” he said, and she almost believed his grief. “The date hardly mattered.”

“Why would you-?” she began incoherently, before she stopped and swallowed. “Why would you let me believe I could save them?”

“I tried, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore. “I tried to dissuade you. I told you time could not be changed.”

“But then you humoured me. We planned to _kill_ him-” She broke off, words hanging in the air, voice cut short before it got any louder. "That's why you said November," she said suddenly, numbly because the realisation was less satisfying than it should've been. "You never had any business in Europe. You just didn't want me doing anything."

Dumbledore watched her for a moment. It was awful how grave he looked and she wanted to rip the sadness from him because he didn't deserve to grieve them- he was the monster that had done this.

 _No,_ Hermione thought. _I am._

"And I trusted you," she said. Her voice was so empty, and she wished it wasn't but she couldn't summon any emotion to fill it. "Maybe those are our downfalls. I trust too easily and you expect to be trusted."

He said simply, “You would not listen to me.”

"Is this still for your Greater Good?" Hermione demanded scathingly, voice biting, eyes flashing. Dumbledore bowed his head, and a ragged sigh, one that almost sounded human, trickled from his lips. And yet, she didn’t care. “You let two _innocent_ people die because of some bigger purpose that only _you_ believe in. Do you even realise how many people you’re going to _kill?_ Do you even _care?_ ”

“Miss Granger,” he cut her off sharply. His blue eyes pierced her, like knives stabbing her over and over again, and she hated the way she searched for any sort of comfort in them. Still. Even after everything he had done.

"How did he know?” she demanded. “How did he find them? Peter wasn't the Secret Keeper. And Sirius couldn't- he wouldn't-"

"Secrets are funny things, Miss Granger. They have a way of getting out whether we will them to or not."

Hermione shook her head. "Voldemort has to be told willingly! He can't obtain it by force. I know how it works, Professor. The information has to be given, not taken."

A horrible thought crossed her mind, seeping through her brain like black fog, threatening to suffocate her. She stared at the blue trim of Dumbledore's robes, eyes fixing on the little bit of gold threaded there, winking in the moonlight.

"What about subconsciously?" she muttered numbly.

"Pardon?"

"Your subconscious isn't truly yours. If someone gets in… If someone is already there… whatever you think of, whatever you know, they’ll see.” Hermione knew she wasn’t making any sense, but her thoughts were rushing and rampant and they streamed from her lips. She knew the conclusion she would arrive at, and yet, she tried to explain it to herself in any possible way that would prove otherwise. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be why-

“You can’t hide secrets from yourself,” she whispered.

The part of her that was always so dark and heavy lingered still, and she felt its presence profoundly in that moment. She was astutely aware of it, and Hermione wondered how she could have ignored its blackness for so long. There was something hanging inside of her, gripping onto her soul, a silent observer of her mind. It was not a part of her. It was a part of something else- some _one_ else entirely. It was a part of him.

She hadn’t saved Lily and James. She had condemned them.

“I’m the rat,” Hermione whispered inaudibly. “I killed them. He saw through me where they were… I’m the horcrux after all.”

She knew Dumbledore couldn’t hear her for she was standing too far away, and he was watching her as he had before. She was sure his entire face would have changed had he heard.

 _She_ was the monster.

Hermione nodded, licking her torn lips. Somehow, despite the brokenness of the world, and the stinging of her eyes, and the evil she could feel weighing her down, everything seemed to finally make sense to her.

She said feebly, "I could never save them, could I? They had to die. No matter what I did, it was always going to lead to this."

Dumbledore sighed again. They were both so tired, and she was struck with how old he was. The street light made him look even older. "Prophecies cannot be loopholed, Miss Granger."

She felt her bones shaking and asked desperately, before she could stop herself, _"Was there any way-?"_

"If Sybill Trelawney had spoken a different prophecy, perhaps. Time cannot be meddled with by human hands," said Dumbledore, and he smiled sadly. "Though we are magic, we retain our mortality."

"Except Voldemort," Hermione countered bitterly. Her smile was forced and flint-like. She dragged her eyes to look at him.

Dumbledore paused, before he moved closer, peering at her over the top of his spectacles and Hermione swore there was no sight more reassuring. She hated herself for it but she found she didn't care how many times that twinkle in those eyes had lied to her- she clung to it now. But she supposed that just proved her right. Despite everything, she still wanted to _trust_ him. He said, "Everything dies one day. Tom Riddle is no exception. It's just he is harder to kill."

And there was something knowing about the way he looked at her, something that made Hermione's heart stop in her chest. He couldn't know- it was _impossible_ -

But the message was clear.

Dumbledore stepped back and said simply, “This war is more than any one person, Miss Granger. Although it may not feel like it at the moment.”

He regarded her for a moment, lingering and pressing, before he disapparated, leaving her standing on the empty street in the darkness. The cold bit at her wet cheeks, but she didn’t haste in moving. A cry cut through the silence, and Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the little crib on the doorstep of Privet Drive. Every inch of her hated the thought of leaving him here, with these people, but she realised something in that moment-

Hermione crept forward, if only to catch one last look at his face before she left. He stopped crying immediately at the sight of her, blinking those big green eyes, and blowing clouds like he used to do when he slept, which popped in the air above his head.

There was no lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

He smiled up at her, lifting his arms, but she didn’t pick him up. She didn’t cradle him close, no matter how much she wanted to.

She held back her tears, and forced herself to leave, ignoring the way he started crying once more even though it killed her. All she could think was _No. This war is not more than any one person… This war is about Harry._

It had always been about Harry.

**oOoOoOo**

She apparated back to Godric’s Hollow, and the first thought that crossed her mind was how quiet it was. Hermione stood outside the church, in the exact spot she was sure she’d left him, but Sirius was nowhere in sight.

The street was empty.

Hermione felt the panic flare up inside of her, felt the cold air poison her throat as she engulfed it. She started walking, almost running, checking up and down the sides of houses, and in people’s gardens, but there was no one awake. Her body was thrumming with dread, anxious and heavy, weighing her down, but she dragged her feet to find him.

_She had to find him._

“Sirius?” She called, but she dared not raise her voice in case she woke the street up. No one answered. Not even the wind replied. Hermione quickened her pace, eyes flicking down every street and path, into every garden. “ _Sirius!”_

She wondered, vaguely, whether he would’ve gone back to the house, and there was a small part of her which hoped he hadn’t. Every inch of her body wanted to go home and close her eyes and pray that she never woke up, but Hermione couldn’t do that yet. She needed to make sure Sirius was okay. Time would not take him too.

Still, she found herself standing outside their home, despite vowing she wouldn’t go back there, staring up at it with empty eyes. The door was open- she must have forgotten to close it. The windows were still bleeding light, and Hermione wished they wouldn’t because there was no light here. There was only darkness.

Every good memory, every laugh and smile they had once thrived off of was slowly fading away. The brightness of those moments was being poisoned, the veins that they had once relied on to keep them going were turning black.

She lifted her wand, without really registering what she was doing, and the glamour tumbled from her lips. All Hermione thought of was the statue she had first seen with Harry, and the way his eyes had glazed over and he’d been choked into silence at the sight of it. She remembered the way his hand tightened on hers, and the little intake of breath he’d done.

The last of the magic poured out of her, and when she regained her energy, she surveyed her creation. The stone was smooth and new, and the young man with the glasses (that were wonky, even in sculpture) had his arm around a young woman with long hair and kind, though grey, eyes. In the woman’s arms, there was a baby, oddly content to be immortalised in stone, and Hermione drew in a shuddering breath because it was either that, or a sob.

She swallowed thickly, wrenching her eyes away from their faces, and she wished she could have done _more_. But there was only one thing left to do.

She had to end this. For good.

Right now, though, Hermione just wanted to sleep, and she apparated to the first place she thought of.

The living room was just was yellow and warm as she remembered it, with the fire crackling in the hearth, and the glass cabinets of wine lining the walls. She was enveloped in heat, and relief tried to wrap itself around her. She felt faint, like she might pass out. Nothing seemed real. Nothing but-

“Hermione?”

Avery stopped in the doorway. He looked oddly distinct; like the rest of the world was smudged and he was the only thing in focus. She reached a hand towards him, but she couldn’t move. He dropped the cup he had been holding and it clattered to the floor, shattering into small, jagged pieces and spilling coffee over the carpet. He was in front of her in a second, taking her hands, fingers squeezing her arms unbelievably tightly. Suddenly, Hermione felt a bit more stable. Where before she’d felt like a balloon in a hurricane, she now felt grounded, as though her string had been tied to some point on Earth.

But all of her air came rushing out. She started breathing quickly, erratically, and her tears blurred her vision. Avery’s concerned face loomed in and out of sight, until he pressed her into him, encasing her in an embrace so vicious and consuming, she was surprised she _could_ still breathe.

“They’re dead,” she whispered. “They’re _gone_.”

He stilled. He didn’t need to ask her who she was talking about- he already knew. All Avery did was clutch her closer to him, cupping the back of her neck and Hermione sobbed into his shoulder.

She gripped him with white knuckles and she wanted to scream. She itched to just scream and let it all out, all the pain and torture and anguish. All the grief. Because it hurt more than anything else. It hurt more than life itself, more than death, more than the sky shattering and the pain of the shards that fell from the ruin.

This hurt more. This was _agony_.

It was hot, writhing inside of her, burning her. She could feel her bones ignite, and the tears streamed out of her eyes, but she made no noise. She was consumed with sadness, with the overwhelming notion of _'This is it. This is all there is now.'_ Not even Avery’s arms around her could break through this fortress of inevitability. Nothing mattered anymore because this was it.

_This was all there was ever going to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You guys are too lovely! Honestly, I love you all so so much!!
> 
> I know last chapter was awful and everyone (including me) hates me, but I need you to believe me that I have a plan. Honestly. Don’t give up on me yet, even though I may destroy whatever is left of you!
> 
> You can vote on tumblr I think, for those of you who are interested- I can’t say thank you enough for that!! Please don’t feel like you have to! I just wanted to thank whoever it was who nominated me because it’s absolutely blown my mind that anyone thinks this story is worth anything!
> 
> A few of you have been asking about my original stories which I sometimes (shamelessly!) mention in my author’s notes. You can find them on Wattpad. My name is @PadfootsPrincess and I must admit before you check them out that I am not nearly as far on with them as with this fanfic! They have, regretfully, taken a backseat. But! I am planning on finishing them someday and hopefully, if all goes to plan, publishing one or two of them so feel free to check them out and give me some feedback!
> 
> Now, about the fanfic, I know lots of you are going to be annoyed with Hermione about all of this but what you have to understand is something Dumbledore said in this chapter: time cannot be changed, prophecies cannot be loopholed. Everything was always going to lead to this unless the prophecy was different. So that begs to question, are there higher forces pulling the strings? Did Hermione really forget what day it was or was she intentionally led to forget? I might be rambling now because I’m tired but you’ll soon find out!
> 
> Do not fear! All is not in vain! I promise!
> 
>  
> 
> (Now, I have my mock exams next week so updates may be slow because I will be trying not to throw myself off the roof of my school since exams stress me out! Sorry but thank you all my little puddings! Have a good two weeks if I don’t update before!)


	94. Chapter 94- The Forget-Me-Not

** Chapter 94- The Forget-Me-Not **

****

Hermione felt warm when she woke up. Though she didn’t open her eyes at first, her fingers felt the blanket that had been draped over her last night. She couldn’t really remember much of what had happened, but she had felt Avery guiding her backwards until he could pull away and position her on the settee. She’d fallen asleep to his hands running through her hair, and the soft lull of his voice telling her everything would be okay. She’d known he was lying, but it didn’t matter. She was just so tired.

Cracking her eyes open, Hermione looked around the room. She lifted her head a little when she saw Avery, kneeling by the fire, tending to it. He must have sensed eyes on him, for he turned his head. She studied him, and for some reason, she was struck by how dark and distinct he was. His eyes were impossibly black, though she knew they were more of a very dark blue because of all the times he’d let her close enough to really look at them. They were fixed on her now, framed by his thick eyelashes, and Avery smiled at her.

It was only small, but it somehow managed to make her feel better. Like she didn’t have to die alone.

He turned back around, adding a few more logs to the fire to keep it roaring. It hissed, spitting sparks at him. He paid it no attention.

"You smile when you sleep," he told her.

She looked at him blearily. "Do I?"

"Yes." Avery smiled slightly. He sat back on his haunches, so that he could look at her. “It must’ve been a good dream.”

Hermione faltered.

_She had been dreaming about the future, but not one poisoned by this past. She had dreamt of a Platform 9¾ that was as bright and bustling as she remembered. But her visit had been different, for she hadn’t been going to Hogwarts, rather waving the children off. She was stood on the platform, and Remus had come to stand beside her and he’d made some dry remark about how horrified McGonagall was going to be when she came face to face with the offspring of James Potter. And then Sirius had barked out his laughter, and he’d looked happier, much healthier than she remembered, with freshly cut hair so it now fell to his chin and not his chest. He’d sighed and said mournfully, “Still think we should have given him the Map.”_

_“My son is not getting kicked out of Hogwarts in his First Year because of you and your shenanigans!” Lily had said, though she was smiling. Her eyes were that shining green, not grey and not empty. Her smile was blinding._

_Sirius spluttered, holding a hand to his chest and declaring, “Shenanigans! James! Sort your woman out! Shenanigans! How dare you!”_

_“She may have a point, Pads,” James replied, coming to stand next to his smug wife. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, paused to straighten his glasses. “He can’t be kicked out before he’s made the Quidditch team!”_

_Lily smacked him, and he was quick to add, “And pass his N.E.W.T.S, of course.”_

_It was then that Peter showed up, and he resembled more the small boy Hermione had met in the Hogwarts corridor all those years ago, with the big grin and the big ears that didn’t quite fit on his head. He said, completely oblivious to their prior conversation, “I can’t believe you guys forgot to give Harry the Map! Boy, that would have been a nightmare! Don’t worry, I packed it in his carry-on for you.”_

_And though Lily looked mutely horrified, Hermione had just laughed and laughed and-_

“Yeah,” she said quietly. A ghost of a smile pulled at her lips. “It was.”

Avery’s face dropped, and neither one of them said anything for a moment. The fire crackled, and she wished it would just take her now but she knew that wouldn’t help anyone.

"You really had me going for a while, you know," said Avery suddenly. Hermione stared at him, and at her frown, he continued. He never looked away. "I thought maybe, just maybe, you might do it. You might save them... But if I've learnt anything, it's that there are some people who deserve happy endings and don't get them."

“There are some people who do,” she felt inclined to argue but it was pointless. The people who _mattered_ didn’t get them.

They both knew this so Avery didn’t bother to say it. Instead, he poked at the fire and said quietly, “What are you going to do now?”

Hermione swallowed. She knew what she had to do. Remus was alone, Sirius was God-knows where, Harry was in the hands of his vile Aunt and Uncle. She knew what she had to do, but it was not what she wanted.

She wanted to go back to Privet Drive and take Harry as far away as possible from there, to raise him herself, and to raise him with love and affection. She wanted to surround Remus with people, if only to ensure he would never be alone again. She wanted to clear Sirius’ name and let him grow old with the people he loved, like he deserved, like _they all deserved._

But she couldn’t do that. Instead, she said, “I’m going to kill Voldemort.”

“That will kill you,” said Avery dismissively. “Don’t kill yourself when your best friends died so that you could live.”

Hermione recoiled. She felt like she’d been slapped. All she could whisper was, “ _How dare you-?”_

“Oh, I dare,” he replied crassly. “I may not have cared much for them, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you make it so that they died in vain.”

“That’s exactly why I’m doing it!” She fumed. “So that they _don’t_ die in vain! So that their son can grow up safe, and loved, and normal!”

Avery raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to do that by leaving him all alone?”

Hermione pursed her lips, and breathed in deeply. She said, “I will be eliminating the thing that will kill him, before he’s even reached twenty. I’ll tell Remus to get him back once Voldemort’s dead. The Muggles are just a safety net-”

Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Why won’t you be able to get him?”

Her reply got stuck in her throat, every excuse flying from her mind. She wished she could tell him the truth, but Hermione knew that he’d never let her go if he knew what she was planning to do. But she couldn’t lie to him either.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill Voldemort for hurting everyone I have ever loved,” said Hermione instead.

There was a moment where this sunk in, and nothing flickered in Avery’s face. Then, he said, “We.”

“What?”

This was not the reply she had been expecting.

“We’re going to kill him,” repeated Avery. Hermione tried not to let her heart flutter, but it did so anyway. She was always surprised by his blind trust in her, and it never failed to make her heart race. She climbed off of the settee, and came to sit beside him on the floor. The fire washed over her, and she linked her fingers through his, resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head into hers, pressing a kiss to her temple. They sat like that, content in the warmth of the flames and each other, before Avery said quietly, “Can we kill him? We’re only human.”

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “So is he.”

**oOoOoOo**

The Ministry was the exact same as she last remembered it, only with more people and less fighting. The metallic walls shone, and the noise echoed around the vestibule as workers flooed in and out, threatening to deafen her. Hermione ignored it, walking determinedly; she was here for one thing and one thing only. She didn’t want to stay for more than she had to. If there was one thing she hated about the wizarding world, it was wizard politics.

“I need to see the Minister of Magic,” Hermione said as soon as reached the front desk. The main atrium of the Ministry was teeming with people, each as loud and happy as the next. It seemed that, though they all had to work, there was nothing now that Voldemort was gone, just celebration and joy. The sight sickened her, and she tried to tune them out, focusing all of her attention on the secretary.

The woman behind the desk was young and nervous, stuttering out her words. Hermione found she had no patience for her. “I-I’m sorry but the Minister isn’t seeing anyone right now.”

Hermione’ frustration came out as a long sigh through her nose, and she gritted her teeth together to stop herself from snapping at the incompetent woman.

“ _Please_ ,” Hermione said, but her politeness was strained. “It’s very important.”

“Miss-” the woman stressed, but Hermione ignored her. Over her head, she spotted the Minister. Millicent Bagnold was a tall woman, towering above her personal assistant and the many leeches working for the newspapers that swarmed after her. Her skin was as dark as her hair, and though she had a kind face, Hermione knew that she could be anything but. She was, after all, the woman responsible for locking up some of the deadliest Death Eaters of Voldemort’s ranks.

Hermione walked around the desk, intentionally ignoring the stuttered calls of the secretary that rang after her. She moved briskly, determination pouring from her stride.

“Minister!” She yelled. Millicent Bagnold stopped, turning to look in the direction of her name. A small frown appeared between her eyebrows.

When she got close enough, Millicent raised an eyebrow, smiling genially, and said, “Can I help you?”

Hermione’s smile was cold and tight. “I should think so. I’m here to talk to you about Sirius Black.”

The journalists buzzed with excitement, feeling the spark of a new story on the tips of their fingertips. Millicent’s lips pursed, and she cast an eye over the crowd around them. When she turned back to Hermione, there was a distasteful caution about her.

“I’m afraid there is nothing to talk about,” she replied smoothly, making a move to turn away.

“You see, that’s where I’ll have to disagree,” Hermione retorted, but there was nothing smooth about the way she said it. Her voice was hard as flint, her smile disappeared. “Sending an innocent man to Azkaban will always be _something_ to talk about.”

The reporters tightened their grips on their cameras, and their magic quills scribbled furiously. Millicent forced a smile, but there was a warning flashing in her eyes. “As far as I am concerned, Black is not innocent. He was the Secret Keeper, and he was found at the scene of the crime. His family has always had allegiances with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I sentenced his own cousin just this morning.”

Hermione couldn’t help it. Before she could contain it, she exploded. “Sirius Black was not working for Voldemort! He helped to defeat him!” There was a ripple of horror at the sound of his name, and she snapped, “Oh for goodness sake! Get _over_ yourself, you’re adults for crying out loud!”

“And can you prove that his allegiances are where you claim?” Millicent questioned coolly, ignoring the crowed that had gathered.

“He’s part of the reason Voldemort is _gone_ ,” seethed Hermione. “His little brother is _dead_ because of Voldemort. Why would he willingly kill his best friends for him?”

“Why, indeed,” Millicent replied blandly, though the bored way she drawled it suggested she didn’t really care.

Hermione stopped, pausing so she could take a deep breath. She never once looked away from the Minister’s face.

She said finally, “You’re condemning him because they trusted him. Do you not see how _wrong_ that is?”

“And his friends are dead because they trusted him,” Millicent said. “Is that not wrong too?”

Hermione felt her heart go ice cold, like water trickling through her veins. Before she had any chance to reply, the Minister said, calmly but firmly, “Sirius Black is going to Azkaban. There is nothing I can do.”

Hermione stared at her, as she turned and began to walk away. The din of the atrium fell numb on her ears for a second, cutting her off from the throng of people and celebration around her, and then she was jolted back into it all. After a moment, she called after her, “Fine. Then you will be the Minister of Magic known for sending an innocent man to rot in prison.” She smiled tightly. “Have a nice life, Minister.”

She left Millicent Bagnold standing there, flabbergasted, in the middle of the Ministry, and Hermione managed to apparate away before the first tears started to fall.

**oOoOoOo**

It felt much starker now that she knew that there was no alternative. Although she had already told Avery she was going to kill Voldemort, Hermione had somehow hoped that she would be able to walk out of it all in one piece. Now, though, she realised how stupid that was.

The thought of Sirius being sent to Azkaban made that vision shatter around her, and she felt the sharp edges of the dream cut her as they fell. She wished that she could do more, but she realised there was only one thing left for her to do.

Hermione stood on the doorstep, and she had to take a deep breath, closing her eyes to calm herself, before she lifted her hand and knocked. He didn’t keep her waiting for very long, opening the door and looking more smudged than she had ever seen him look.

His hair hadn’t been brushed, and it fell in his dark eyes, which were framed by shadows. His skin was pale, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in months, never mind days. The brown jumper he wore swamped him, and she recognised it as the one she had worn to the Quidditch match, the one Sirius loved because it smelled like home.

Remus stared at her for a moment, and Hermione wondered whether he was going to let her in, when he stepped to the side.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said quietly, folding his arms tightly across his chest, hugging his torso. He winced slightly as he did so, but she pretended she didn’t notice. He’d only draw further into himself if she tried to give him sympathy. Her eyes flicked around the room, and she tried to school her features to not react at the mess he had made.

The potted plants that she had helped him to plant when he’d first moved in were all dead, and withering. Dirty plates and bowls littered the kitchen worktops, and half-drunk cups of coffee and tea and hot chocolate decorated every table. But the uncleanliness wasn’t what made her stop.

The pillows had been ripped open, and their stuffing lay strewn across the floor. Deep scratches and blood stained the peeling wallpaper, and all of his books had been thrown across the room, some had even had their pages torn out. It looked like chaos.

“It was a full moon,” he muttered, in way of explaining. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. She had thought it could not get worse, but it could. _Oh God_ , it could.

“Even Peter came to visit,” Remus continued. “He was a mess. He’s been sleeping here for the past few days, but he just gets up and leaves whenever it gets too much. I don’t know where he is now. He kept asking for you though, and I just had to tell him you were _grieving_.”

“I’ve been at the Ministry,” she replied, though she knew it wasn’t really any excuse. Their best friends were dead.

“Why?” Remus asked bitterly. “Why try to save him? He killed them-”

Hermione whipped around to look at him. She was too shocked to actually speak, but she managed to get out, “Don’t you dare.”

“What? He was their Secret Keeper, Hermione!” exclaimed Remus. “How else could Voldemort have found them-? Sirius _killed_ him! And it kills me because I love him, and so did James! And Lily! And he _betrayed_ them-”

“I was their Secret Keeper too!” She yelled at him.

It had slipped out, and she hadn’t meant for it to, but it had. It was out there now, and she couldn’t grapple for it back.

Remus stared at her, frozen in place. “What?”

Hermione felt her breath shake as it whistled through her lips, and she closed her eyes because she felt like she might cry. This wasn’t Sirius’ fault. She had done this.

She willed to feel Voldemort at the fringes of her mind, smug and watchful, like he must’ve been all along, but he was absent. Hermione wondered how she hadn’t noticed before now, but it was only when she admitted it aloud that she realised what had happened.

Voldemort had found them through her. _She_ had betrayed them.

“They made you their Secret Keeper?” Remus asked, and his voice was barely a murmur. He was staring at her, like he was praying she’d deny it, tell him he was wrong or delusional, or hard of hearing. But she didn’t. Hermione nodded. “I- _when?_ ”

“At Harry’s birthday party,” she replied in a small voice. She still couldn’t look at him. “It was a safety precaution, James said. Because they wanted to see Harry grow up.”

There was another moment’s silence, then Remus said in a deathly quiet voice, “Sirius is rotting in a prison cell because of you.”

“I tried to get him out-”

“He’s only there because they think he’s the only Secret Keeper!” Remus shouted at her, the veins in his neck straining. “Why didn’t you turn yourself in?!”

“Because I _can’t_ , Remus!” Hermione yelled, and her eyes flew open. “Because I need to finish what I started!”

He stopped. He said, “What does that mean?”

She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. I’m sorry I loved you but I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I couldn’t make your life lovely, and we couldn’t live in those moments forever. I’m sorry I can’t dance with you every year of our lives. I wish I could-”

“Hermione.” Remus cut her off, coming to stand in front of her. His hands were gentle on her face, stroking her cheeks, brushing away her tears but she couldn’t stop crying. He was so gentle with her. She could almost see past the shadows, to the young boy with the crooked smile and soft eyes that she had fallen in love with. “Hermione. Why does this sound like a goodbye?"

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered.

She tried to detangle herself from his grip, but he held tight, and she cursed his werewolf strength. It only bothered her when it was used against her.

Remus leaned in close, pressing his forehead against her cheek. “Why?”

“I need to kill Voldemort.”

His head froze against hers, and she heard the moment his breath could in his throat. He pulled away, just slightly, so that he could look at her. His voice was quiet when he said, “But you could die.”

Hermione’s smile was forced and watery. She gave him a small, half-hearted shrug. “I have to.”

She stepped away from him, turning around and heading for the door. She hated how abrupt this goodbye was, how she was leaving him when he needed her most, because Hermione knew he would never do that to her.

Remus followed her, desperation making his voice crack. "Hermione. You can't do this!"

"Try stop me."

He tried to reach for her wrist. "I-"

"You're too weak, Remus,” she said, turning around to face him. She sounded strong, but inside, she could feel her heart breaking. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you winced. You and I both know how this is going to end. I'm going to walk out that door and I'm going to confront Voldemort and you're never going to know otherwise."

Remus’ face collapsed, and he was crying now. _"Don't do this..."_ he pleaded.

"I have no other choice."

"There are _so_ _many_ other choices! We can fight him together! We can clear Sirius' name! We-"

 _"Will die!"_ Hermione shouted.

There was silence, where the two of them merely stared at one another. Their voices, which had rung loud and clear just a second before, were numb and frozen in their throats.

"Remus, if we do all that,” she said in a steadier voice, “we will die and I am not willing to lose you as well."

"But it's okay if I lose you?” he demanded incredulously, frantically, because he just now realised what was at stake. “If I lose everyone? Don't you see Hermione? You might think this is heroic and self-sacrificing but you're not just killing yourself! _You're killing me too!"_

Hermione paused. A thought, as horrible as it was startling, flitted through her mind, and she look at Remus. He was so ragged, so smudged; a celestial mist that anyone else would’ve had to squint to see the beauty of. She didn’t- Hermione could see his beauty a mile away.

She lifted her hand up, holding his jaw and he allowed himself a fleeting moment of comfort, where he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.

“What if you never had me?”

Remus’ eyes shot open, and his face creased into a frown, but before he could say anything, Hermione rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone and said, _“Obliviate.”_

**oOo**

He didn’t quite know how he’d gotten into bed that day. All he knew was that something felt out of place, and _wrong,_ when he woke up, like the world had stopped turning, or the stars had begun to drop, one by one, from the sky.

Remus got up, rubbing his eyes as he made his way into the kitchen. Everything was tidier than he remembered leaving it as well. As he made himself a cup of coffee, he wondered what this itching feeling was in his head and chest. It felt like he was forgetting something, something important, something… _life-changing._

He shrugged. It couldn’t have been that important if it had slipped his mind already. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. As Remus turned around to go sit down, he paused-

There, on the table, was a small blue flower, curled inside itself. It was all that was left.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> AN: I think I’ll probably revisit this chapter tomorrow and change some bits but I hope this is okay for now!!
> 
> Next chapter: the final mission to kill Voldemort once and for all.
> 
> I know you have some serious questions, but they will be answered!   
>  
> 
> On a more positive note: I FINALLY watched Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them today!! I cried from start to end, and then sobbed during the credits. That film could not have been any more perfect than it was. I absolute adored it. It was magical.
> 
>  


	95. Chapter 95

** Chapter 95 **

 

**'McKinnon Family Murdered. You-Know-Who Gone But His Followers Remain.'**

Marlene's face was splattered across the papers, and Hermione couldn’t even find it in herself to cry. She wished she could mourn the girl with the loudest laugh, who always smelt of cigarettes and other people; who screamed when things got too much, who wanted a big gravestone- one with an angel on top so that people would know she was important... But she couldn't. Instead, she just felt empty.

“What are you reading?” asked Avery, as he came into the kitchen.

Hermione set the paper to the side, folding it over so she could no longer see Marlene’s dazzling grin. She continued to pick at her breakfast, and shrugged. "Nothing."

Avery paused by the kettle, watching her. His eyes flicked to The Daily Prophet and back, and, though Hermione knew what he was going to do, she wasn't quick enough to stop him as his hand darted out and flipped the paper back.

She watched his face and he didn't react.

"You used to sit next to her-" she began.

"In potions," Avery interrupted shortly. "I know."

He let Marlene's picture fall back onto the table, and returned to brewing his tea as though nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just found out a girl was dead.

Nobody spoke as Hermione tore her toast apart, and Avery stirred his tea; the only sound to break the silence was the clinking of his spoon against the cup. When he was finished, he turned round to lean against the countertop, looking at her over the rim of his drink.

"Did you know she was going to die?" he questioned. There was a quietness to his voice, which could be seen as respect, but the nonchalance with which he spoke made that respect null and void.

Hermione stopping picking at her slice of toast. She replied, "Yes."

"Could you have saved her?"

"No," she swallowed. Her eyes found his. "I didn't know the details, only that she didn't make it to my time."

Avery nodded slowly, taking a long sip of his tea. After a moment, he said, "Do I?"

Hermione paused. She tried to make it imperceptible but, judging by the way he straightened up, she reckoned Avery noticed anyway. "I don't know... You and I- we aren't exactly on the same side."

"Really?" Avery asked, and a sharp, derisive laugh burst from his lips. It was bitter and disbelieving. "Because I'm helping you kill Voldemort for _him_ -"

"Please," Hermione scoffed. "You know what I mean!"

"Do I?"

She frowned at him. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be rotting in Azkaban with the rest of Voldemort's followers."

There was a moment of silence where they both absorbed what she had just said. The truth of the matter singed in the air between them.

"Right," Avery replied abruptly. He was neither cold nor caring, just borderline dull. "Because I have no capacity to be anywhere else."

Hermione stood up and she looked at him, unabashedly. "No. Because I'm the first person to ever believe that you do."

He stared at her. His jaw was tight; his face stoic as though that façade he used to wear had come barrelling up once more. It hurt her slightly that he felt he had to wear it now, with her. Avery was searching for something in her eyes, some sort of honesty, because he’d lost that; because people had lied to him and pushed him around like he was nothing more than a pawn in their game, and he’d had enough of it; because nobody had ever believed in him, believed that he was more than all of this- because it would destroy him if Hermione thought that too.

“You have the capacity to be whoever you choose to be,” she said quietly. She never looked away because she meant it- she meant every word. “But I think you’ve found him. Honestly, I think you’ve always been him… And he’s not a monster. He’s a flower hiding in a serpent’s den.”

Hermione’s voice had dropped quieter, softer, and although she tried to make them light, the words trembled with the truth. Avery laughed breathlessly, stepping closer to her.

She felt her breath catch in her throat as his hands ghosted up her arms, and he murmured, “Did you just call me a flower?”

She tried to raise her chin in defence, but she only succeeded in shortening the distance between their lips. There was an inch between them. Avery breached it, only for a moment, before he said, “Because of you.”

“No,” whispered Hermione. “Because of you.”

He kissed her, sweetly but firmly. She kissed him back harder, just in case it was the last time she’d ever have the chance to. When he pulled away, he smiled slightly, stepping back.

"So how are you going to kill him?" Avery asked, rolling his sleeves up and sounding, as odd as it was, like a builder making sense of blueprints.

Hermione swallowed thickly, whether because she still couldn’t think coherently or because the guilt addled with her ability to speak. She still hadn't told him.

"Actually," she began. His dark eyes landed on her. "I think you should do it."

He looked at her then. She felt apprehension coil in the pit of her stomach but she didn't back down, nor falter. There was something scrutinising and indiscernible about the way he looked at her. 

“You’re telling me you don’t want to kill Lord Voldemort?” Avery asked, an eyebrow raised. His scepticism was tangible, and he didn’t even bother to hide it.

Hermione shook her head. “I’ve got enough blood on my hands.”

He looked at her incredulously. “And I don’t?”

She smiled at him, taking his face in her hands and she didn’t miss the way his breath caught in his throat.

“I believe in you,” she said. “He’s taken everything from you. He’s _destroyed_ you-”

“And he left you whole?” Avery demanded. He stared at her in silence for a moment or two, before he lowered his voice and spoke in a gentler, cautious tone. “Hermione, are you sure about this? Why do you want me to kill him?”

The truth threatened to kill her, and it got to her lips before she said, “Because I trust you. Irrevocably. With my whole heart.”

And they both knew there was something she wasn’t saying, what she should be saying instead but neither one of them commented on it. Avery searched her eyes once more.

He nodded once. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill Voldemort.”

oOoOoOo

Hermione walked through the empty house.

The rooms seemed odd now that there was no one there to breathe life into them. She moved slowly, dragging her fingers along the wall, lingering by the doorway to the bathroom as she remembered brushing Lily’s red hair back from her face as she threw up, rubbing her back, soothing noises dripping from her lips.

Hermione continued walking. She didn’t look into Lily and James’ bedroom, because she doubted she would be able to stand it. All of their life and love, their traits and quirks, would drench that room.

It would hurt too much to see the way Lily folded the corner of her bedsheets back, at each end, with a charmed hot water bottle lying in wait, because it was the way her mother used to do it, or the way James folded his socks, oddly as always- he’d not worn matching socks since the day of his first Quidditch match where his accidental odd socks had won him eternal glory. Hermione knew that if she went into their room, she would see the pictures of a snowy day in Hogsmeade with their red-stained cheeks and bright eyes, and the one of them dancing together at the Christmas ball. She would walk past their bed, unslept in, and see the picture of them kissing on their wedding day, and them with Harry on his first Christmas, and then another on his first birthday. She would see the picture of them dancing, as the autumn leaves rained down around them. And all the pictures would be moving.

Instead, Hermione went to the very end of the hall. Harry’s bedroom was dark, and she flicked the light switch when she stepped inside. There was something tragic about an empty child’s bedroom, where once love thrived. She noticed the toy broomstick, propped up against the wall, and the teddies littered around the crib.

Hermione stopped next to the cot, looking down at the stag teddy that Remus had bought Harry for his first birthday. He'd bought him the set; and the black dog, wolf and rat were strewn nearby. It was the only way they would be together now, and she just stared at them, remembering the first time she had ever seen them together, sitting round the fire and laughing, eyes soft and loving and young. Brothers, where not even death could separate them.

Hermione tore her eyes away, looking up because it hurt to look down. And she stopped-

Her eyes froze on the wall opposite, and she felt something odd and light trickle through her body. There, etched into the paint, was a tree. The tree wasn’t so much a tree as a collection of lines, all connected and intertwined together. It looked as though someone had carved the lines by hand, delicately but artlessly, like they meant something.

Hermione let her eyes trace the lines, swirling from the very top branch, down the trunk to the roots, which sprawled out, spiralling off to end abruptly with a name.

The first name she recognised as written in Remus' scribbled handwriting, and it was punctuated by a small crescent moon.

The next root ended in Peter, added in his own minuscule hand, with a cheese drawing just underneath. His name was darker than the other lines, deeper, like he had been pressing down hard to stop his hand from shaking.

Sirius' elegant yet utterly illegible scrawl was next, and Hermione only knew it was his because of the way it looked like an inconsequential, elaborate twirl. Much like him, his handwriting was melodramatic and difficult to make sense of.

Finally, there was James. His name was neat, partially cursive, and adorned antlers protruding from the 'a' and the 'e.' Hermione felt her throat grow tight, and she leaned over, hesitantly, to brush her thumb over his name. Next to this was Lily's name, ending in a flower, and from their names, a line had been drawn down to Harry.

She smiled slightly, and started to pull back, when her eyes caught on something else. For there, looping and curling off, was a fifth line coming from the main trunk.

Her own name was written in that same neat handwriting, and ended with a sunshine. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry, but Hermione felt her throat clench and the tears came to her eyes before she could stop them.

It was a charred drawing, with jilted lines and uneven branches forking off. Their names were written in their own hand, their own little imprint on the world which would remain even when they had been forgotten. It wasn't much- it was a carving of a tree into a wall. But it was a piece of them, forever imprinted, eternally documented. It made them immortal, as long as this tree existed. It wasn't much, but it was their family.

Even though their family was broken up and fractured, they survived together through this; a tree in a wall.

Hermione wished it could be something more, but this was all that was left.

She took a moment, steeling herself with a deep breath, before she apparated.

**oOoOo**

He was stood waiting for her by the gate to their muggle house. Avery, impassive as ever, oozing mundanity in the extravagant way only he could achieve, looked more like he was going shopping, than off to kill the darkest wizard to ever live.

“You ready to go?” he asked her when she got closer.

"Yeah," she replied, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

He didn't move, just continued staring at her. Then, gently, so gently she wasn't quite sure whether she imagined it, Avery reached up and tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear.

"I believe in you," he said solemnly.

Hermione searched his eyes, but all she could find was a searing honesty. For some reason, it pained her. So she just nodded.

Avery's shoulders dropped, and his breath whistled through his pursed lips. He sighed, almost in frustration, and said, "I believe in you because you've never once given me reason not to." He lowered his voice, and she felt her throat lock. "You make me feel... less like a monster, and more like someone completely good. Like I'm the hero of the story. And you're the writer, carving my path and keeping me breathing. I've yet to decide whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, but- what I'm trying to say is... I'm a man of few words, but you make me want to write poetry. That's the only way I can describe it."

The softness to his eyes, that youthful insecurity, vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. He sobered up immediately, eyes clearing and back straightening. He snatched his hand back as though burned. His voice was normal and devoid of emotion and he said, as detached as ever, "Well? What are we waiting for?"

He turned on his heel, and Hermione couldn't explain why, but anger flared up inside of her.

She started forward and shouted, voice trembling with anger, “You can’t just say something like that, and then act like it’s nothing!”

He twirled around to face her and she hadn’t realised how close they were until then. His eyes flashed, first with bewilderment, then with incredulity. Neither of which leaked into his disposition, which remained tight and uncaring. “What would you rather me do? Hold your hand and skip off into the sunset with you?”

The fact that he was as dispassionate as ever made her look away and scoff.

“No,” she spat, refusing to drag her eyes back to his face. She knew she was being irrational but in a few hours, she would no longer be on the planet so Hermione figured she was entitled to it. “I want you to just act like you care for once, without switching off the minute you show an ounce of emotion! Just pretend. So at least, I can die, pretending there’s someone left out there who loves me."

The truth scorched her tongue, lighting the empty space between them on fire, and all Hermione could do was reel in the weight it took off her shoulders. She felt like crying, because it was so brutally honest. She just wanted to die loved.

Avery was staring at her, the confusion creasing his beautiful face and it was the most profound emotion she had ever seen on him. He shook his head slightly and said, “I do love you.”

And he kissed her. His hands cupped her jaw, holding her firmly in place, keeping her grounded lest she fly away. It was the most gentle he'd ever been, treating her like she was a fire he was trying to rekindle.

"Besides," said Avery hoarsely when he pulled away, licking his lips and trying to smile. "You're not going to die. Not on my watch."

Hermione pretended her silence was because of the shock that still permeated through her body (it was, partially), and not because she didn't want to tell him. She couldn't destroy the earnest brightening his dark eyes.

It was the only thing they had left. A tree, his eyes, and the skinny love they wished to drown themselves in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I was originally going to continue writing and just post one really long chapter but I’m in the middle of my mock exams, and Goodness knows when I’d have time to finish writing that chapter (especially because it was when they confront Voldemort!!) so I decided to just make them two separate chapters so at least I can give you guys something! My mocks are going…well, I think. I messed up my History exam!! I revised so so so much and had so many facts to include in my essays but I just couldn’t think of two separate points for each question so I only wrote about one…
> 
> I’m really annoyed with myself but I managed to get 6 marks off full marks on my maths test which isn’t too bad I guess. So I’m stressing myself out when all I’ve wanted to do is write!!!! I hope this is good enough for you all:) hope you are all okay!


	96. Chapter 96

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE FINISHED ALL MY MOCKS!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
> 
> Thank you for all your well-wishes! They went well, but I feel they could have gone better:) oh well! They’re mocks for a reason!
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to tell you all that The Light has been nominated for Best Marauder Era fanfiction on Quotev!! Can you believe it??
> 
> The link is: https://www.quotev.com/quiz/8812854/The-2016-Golden-Snitch-Awards-Voting if you want to vote:) I’m so so so touched that this fanfiction holds a special place in your heart. I genuinely cannot thank you enough. I love you all so so much.
> 
>  

 

** Chapter 96 **

 

The field they apparated into was just as barren as Hermione remembered it, nestled at the foot of a looming crag, although this time, the greenness of the grass did not represent her salvation, but her demise. The light she had associated with freedom when Avery had broken her out of Voldemort's lair all those months ago, was now leering and garish.

She tried not to stare for too long because it hurt her eyes.

Avery led the way, and they headed towards the bottom of the hill, where the jagged rock merged into meadow.

As he felt along the edge, searching for the hidden entrance, Hermione reached inside her bag, pulling something out. It was long, spanning and spilling over both her hands put together. The bone was cool to touch, and smooth, and the sharpness of it pressed against her thumb, drawing blood. There was something steadying about the weight of it.

Avery glanced at her and his face cleared, eyes snagging on her hands. She swallowed. The reservation in his eyes made the darkness of them flicker. “Please tell me that's not what I think it is.”

“It's not what you think it is.”

“Then what is it?”

“You told me not to tell you,” she said quietly.

He grabbed her wrist, dragging her closer to him and said lowly, “Hermione…”

She wanted to believe she didn’t imagine the way his voice caught in his throat, the way her name sounded like a dying man’s plea on his lips. She swallowed back any hesitance, looking up at him resolutely and said, “Yes?”

It was then he knew he’d lost her.

His eyes closed briefly, and he looked pained. The shards of her heart pierced her chest.

It was then she knew she loved him.

"How did you get one of those?” Avery demanded softly. He stared at the basilisk fang in her hand as though it had lied to him, as though it had ripped through his own torso and shredded his heart.

Hermione swallowed back the guilt and replied, “It’s a long story.”

Avery raised an eyebrow at her, though it was halfhearted and not nearly as accusatory as he intended it to be. “An illegal long story?”

She smiled weakly. “Possibly.”

The sigh that left his lips was resigned and tired but he merely said, “I’m not even surprised...That’s a bad thing, you know-"

"There's a basilisk in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. Or there was. Moaning Mrytle's- do you remember her?" Hermione started talking without even realising what she was saying; her voice was quiet and quick. "I don't suppose you would. It wasn't really in the girls' toilets, more like a secret chamber that you could get to through one of the sinks. The rooster's cry is fatal to a basilisk, so I used my visits to Dumbledore to conceal my true intentions, and dropped lots of roosters down the pipe one day. The basilisk was dead when I got down there. I pulled out all of his teeth and collected as much venom as I could. I was going to sell it. It's a valuable ingredient used in multiple rare healing potions. I imagine it would help a lot of people."

When she stopped talking, her chest heaved but it was probably because of the pounding of her heart. Avery was watching her carefully.

Eventually, he said, "You've been planning this out for a long time."

"Yes," she replied.

Avery nodded absently, eyes glued to the bag slung over her shoulder.

"And are they all for Voldemort?"

Hermione opened her mouth without thinking then, but she was quick to close it before she said something she'd regret. Instead, she swallowed thickly and said, "Yes. And his Horxruxes."

The honesty of her words threatened to scorch her tongue, or maybe cause the tears she was straining to hold back to leak over. He was risking his life for her, and she was lying through her back teeth to him.

"We should probably get it over with. I don't know for how long basilisk venom lasts," she said quietly, slipping the fang back into her bag. That was a lie- of course she did. It was 563 hours if not stored properly, but it could be renewed so many times by the addition of unicorn blood.

He glanced at her, sidelong, and her eyes flicked to meet his. Avery looked away. Then, he tapped the stone face with his wand and stared impassively as the rock disintegrated, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. The ease with which he did it made her stomach writhe.

The hole revealed a tunnel, Hermione knew, but their way was shrouded in darkness and shadow.

She breathed in deeply, stealing herself, before stepping forward.

"Hermione," Avery said, catching her arm before she could move any further. She stopped and looked back at him. His face, as ever, was empty; his dark eyes steady and demanding. "Are you sure about this?"

In so few words, she knew what he was asking her. Was she thinking straight? Did she need time to reconsider and calm herself down? Did she need the designated 'grieving time' before she went back out there? Was this a good idea?

Hermione swallowed, and her throat still burned from all the screaming she'd done. It was a harsh and painful reminder, which somehow managed to null the prospect of death.

She nodded.

"Positive."

Avery looked at her for a few seconds longer, before his arm dropped and he nodded once.

"Then let's get on with it."

He started walking forward, past her, but there was something that kept Hermione glued to the spot, staring at, but not seeing, the cave wall.

“Wait!” she called, and Avery paused, turning to raise his eyebrows at her. She felt like she’d ingested something heavy and sharp, and her heart was beating fast, but Hermione forced herself to move to meet him. She pressed her lips against his, hard, and there was a warmth that emanated between them. It started from her hand, pulsing up her veins and tingling her lips; like some sort of disease contrived from fireworks and sparklers that went off at the place their lips touched. She felt Avery frown, but he didn't pull away.

Hermione kissed him hard, with all the force she could muster. She wanted to tell him that she loved him with this kiss, and that she could never stop loving him. Avery seemed to know because he faltered. It was like a bubble came down on him, wrapping him up, cutting him off from her despite him breathing air into her lungs.

When she pulled away, she offered him a small smile and repeated his own words back to him, "Let's get on with it."

Avery nodded and they continued walking. The bubble was not quite gone. The hole closed behind them, and they were plunged into darkness, apart from the glow of their wands. This time, because she was more aware of her surroundings and the risk of Voldemort on their tail was reduced, Hermione found her eyes drawn to the walls.

There was a smoothness to them, and she knew that it had been done by magic, for no hand could achieve the scrupulous perfection through carving. She couldn’t help but frown. Why would Voldemort create a way out? A way out that led from the dungeons to freedom.

“Who made this?” she asked suddenly.

Avery raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained impassive. “I don’t know. I found it when I first came here.”

"Where is 'here?'"

He shot her a look that clearly implied she was stupid. Hermione made a noise of indignation. He still didn't tell her, but she let it slide for they came to the end of the tunnel.

Avery touched the stone with his wand, and it melted away. The dungeon they stepped into was silent, unusually so. There was something frigid on the air; the sound of screams that had yet to be torn from the dead's throats.

But the silence wasn't what unnerved her most.

"Where are all the prisoners?"

Hermione couldn’t hold the question back. Though she was glad to see there were no sallow eyes and sunken skulls watching her, their absence was haunting.

"The war is over," he said, and she didn't like the finality to his voice. "There was no need for them."

"What happened to that woman?" asked Hermione, staring into the empty cell and remembering the jaundiced glare of the woman that once stared back. She pretended she didn't mind the implications of his answer.

"I killed her," replied Avery tonelessly. His eyes flicked to her. "I told you I would."

She tripped over a jagged stone in the floor and paused. She looked at him. “You said you’d Obliviate her. That’s very different.”

“Did I?” He didn’t even look back at her, just continued walking so she forced her legs to continue working. The cells felt chilled and though Hermione didn’t care for the woman with the wiry hair, she still felt goosebumps crawl up her arms.

“Yes,” she replied. “You did.”

Avery finally stopped, at the foot of the stairs, and he looked at her in exasperation. “What would you rather me do, Hermione? She saw my face! She could have given me up!”

She stared back at him, and said, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, but you were thinking it,” he retorted coldly, and before she could reply, he added, “Have you got the cloak? Put it on.”

Hermione acquiesced, but only because Avery had his hand against the door, ready to push it open. Once she was invisible, he did exactly that, and they spilled out onto a bright corridor. It wasn’t so much bright, as brighter than the dungeon they had previous been stood in. There was a cold elegance to the house, one which she hadn’t had the opportunity to fully appreciate the last time around (though she _had_ been unconscious, the fault did not lie with her there). If she had to guess, Hermione would say that they were in Malfoy Manor, for the extravagance had that air about it, but there was something different, out of place.

She neglected to say anything, but instead followed Avery as he led her through the house. He turned down each corridor with a decided surety, a stride that showed he knew where he was going, that he had walked these halls before.

Hermione kept one eye on him, but she let her attention roam the walls. There were quite a few portraits hanging from them, and their inhabitants were all sleeping soundly. They looked dignified, not quite haughty but the cloak of privilege was swathed over them nonetheless. The curtains were a deep green, framing the windows that lined the walls.

There was something familiar about it; not the type of familiarity where you had seen it before, but rather like you recognised its soul.

“This is your house,” she said suddenly. It felt like the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione didn't wait for Avery to reply, as she wasn't sure he would, but his silence confirmed her thoughts anyway. "That's how you know about the tunnel. That's how you managed to get me out so easily. You grew up here. It's your home-"

"No," he cut her off. His voice was only sharp for the way it rang around the hall. "I was born here, but this isn't my home. It never was."

Hermione watched him. "Then where is?"

Finally, Avery slowed his pace and although he didn't look at her, he stretched out his fingers slightly, and she took them, looping them round her own. He relaxed.

"Oddly enough," he murmured, "the Muggle lady's house was the closest thing to a home I've ever had."

"But it was a dump compared to this place!" exclaimed Hermione before she could stop herself, though she was less shocked than she sounded.

"Yes, it was subpar compared to what I'm used to," he agreed, "but I had you to wake up to every morning so I suppose the grandeur was matched in a different way."

Avery glanced in her direction, and she wondered if he forgot for a moment that she could see him, even if he couldn't see her, for there was a softness to his eyes that she was sure he'd never willingly let her witness.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but he stopped abruptly, and she ran into his shoulder. The corridor they had been walking along came to an end before a set of double doors.

She felt her throat stick and when she swallowed, it was painful. She squeezed Avery's hand. He squeezed hers right back.

Avery detangled their fingers, stealing a second, before he knocked. The hiss that replied made every hair on Hermione's body stand on end:

_"Enter."_

Avery obeyed. Hermione followed.

It wasn't the room she saw first; it wasn't the armchairs by the fire, nor the grand ceilings, nor the rows of bookcases to their right. _He_ was what she noticed first, and Hermione had to bite her lip to hold back the gasp.

His skin was white and stretched thin on his skull, so thin she could see the intricate and detestable network of veins that throbbed to keep him alive. His eyes were completely red, and there was nothing human about him. He was a monster, powerful because even Time feared to defy him.

He also wasn't alone.

The man he was talking to was impossibly tall and broad, with dark hair and eyes and a blackness to him that she recognised instantly. Beside her, Avery stiffened.

"Father," he greeted. Avery Senior looked at his son. A sweeping second of surprise crossed his face, but it was gone before Voldemort could see it.

"Son."

Hermione looked between the two of them carefully, making sure to hold her breath.

"I was hoping to speak with you, my Lord," said Avery after a moment, ignoring his father, who continued to stare at him. Perhaps it was this that prompted him to add, "In private."

Voldemort's interest piqued. His eyes were positively gleaming. "Of course."

The elder Avery took this as his cue to leave, but not before stopping by his son to grip his shoulder firmly. Hermione noticed the way Avery's throat bobbed, and how his father's hand was not tight nor constricting at all. She noticed the way he fought to lean into him.

She realised in that moment just how much she was asking of him.

When the door clicked to a shut behind them, Voldemort finally rested his gaze on Avery. The boy did not look at him.

"What is it you wish to talk about-?"

Hermione wrenched the cloak from her head.

Voldemort’s face cleared, as his eyes locked on her, and she felt relish overcome her fear.

"Hello Tom."

The fury that stole across his face was livid and pulsating, but it was also fleeting, disappearing in the same second it had appeared. His thin lips turned up in a sickly smile.

"Kairos. Have you missed me?"

"Quite the contrary," she replied tightly. "You don't look very handsome, Tom. The face finally reflects the twisted soul within."

Hermione still couldn't shake that feeling of shock. What had happened to him? Harry wasn't a Horxrux because he didn't need to be, but then why was Voldemort the monster he resembled in her own time?

The answer filled her with a heavy and obdurate dread, which she pushed back down. She would not let it get to her. She knew what she had to do.

Still, Voldemort was watching her keenly, and he cocked his head to the side, eyes keen and scrutinising.

"You're surprised to see me," he noted, and she threw up the walls in her mind. He chuckled.

"I don't need access to your mind to know that," said Voldemort. "Your eyes tell me enough... Besides, you could never keep me out, Kairos. You should know that by now."

Hermione knew he was baiting her, but she kept silent. She could taste the blood from where she'd bitten her lip so hard it had begun to bleed.

"But why, I wonder," Voldemort continued, eyes glued to her. He hadn't so much as glanced at Avery again. "Am I not supposed to be alive? Did I die in your original timeline-?"

Hermione laughed, cutting him short. The sound was harsh. "Don't you get it? This _is_ my original timeline. Everything has happened the same. Albeit, some in different ways, but they were just bypasses to the same end. There is no changing the future, Tom. There is only living the present."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Hermione stated at him for a moment. The question was challenging, but it was more so curious. She said, "I'm here to end the war."

"The war is over, Kairos," Voldemort said. He seemed amused by her antics; his voice was lofty, his thin lips turned up at their corners. "You lost."

"No," Hermione said.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side, as though he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. He repeated carefully, "No?"

"No," she said again. There was a fire raging inside of her, consuming her, and it was all the sadness and fury she had ever felt, first sparked by Regulus' face when he had stepped off of the boat. It had been roaring since then, lying dormant, waiting for something to ignite it. It was ablaze now. "You have taken everything from me. You have taken everyone I have ever cared for. And you may think that you have won, but you are wrong. You are so incredibly wrong, Tom. Because there is something you can never take from me, you can never have. And that is love."

Voldemort's face morphed into a sneer, and he looked poisonous.

" _Love_ ," he spat. "And what makes you think I'd ever want something as pathetic and mortal as that? Kairos, be careful. You sound like Muggle-loving Dumbledore."

"Because you want to be immortal," said Hermione, taking no notice of his warning. Something piqued in Voldemort's eyes, and the red in them faltered just slightly. "And you think magic is the way to do that but you're wrong. Magic can't immortalise you, Tom. It can make you live for a long time but not forever. But Regulus... And James, and Lily, and Mary and Dorcas and Marlene- they will live forever. Because there are people who will love them forever. They will live on in those people's memories and they will become immortal but you," Hermione's voice was so soft, but so truthful, that it crackled the air between them. Voldemort watched her cautiously, "You will be forgotten. You will die and no one will know who you are. How does that sound Tom? Like you've won a war?"

Voldemort remained silent for a few moments after. His eyes flicked to Avery and he said, "This is how you escaped me last time."

"Yes."

"My own soldier turned against me-"

_"He was never yours!"_

The words left Hermione's lips fiercely. They burnt her throat on their way out, but she had to say them.

Voldemort's eyes flicked between the two of them. He gave nothing away.

"You love each other."

The observation came out of nowhere, and the abruptness of it threw her off. From the look of Avery's frozen expression, he hadn't expected this either.

"What are you-?" she began, bewildered.

"I assume you have come here to kill me."

Hermione swallowed. She nodded. "Yes."

Those red eyes slowly dragged themselves to Avery, and they glinted as he said, "And do you know what killing me entails, young Avery?"

Hermione felt her heart drop. She turned to him quickly and said, "Don't listen to him, Frederic."

Avery didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on Voldemort.

"Your Horxruxes," he said. "We've destroyed them."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "All of them?"

Avery remained silent.

"Your dearest Hermione has not been honest with you, Avery," Voldemort said in a low and dangerous voice. "Did she ever tell you what I did to her? Did she tell you she was responsible for the Potters' deaths? Did she tell you there's one Horxrux left...?"

" _Stop!"_ Hermione ordered but it was futile. The triumph in Voldemort's eyes was sickening but valid. Avery looked at her.

"What is he talking about, Hermione?" he asked lowly.

She stared at him.

"I meant to tell you," she began. "I just didn't think you'd do it."

Avery's face was frozen. "Do what?"

"Kill him... after I'd killed myself."

The way his eyes cleared and jaw slackened made her desperate to step towards him, to explain, to cradle him because she hadn't meant to hurt him. Avery looked broken, empty in a sense she had never seen him. He resembled more the boy that had fallen asleep in her lap after he had just killed a woman, after his heart had fractured from the weight the world had placed on him.

She hadn't meant for it to end like this but this was how it had to be.

"That's right Avery," Voldemort said. The victory dripped from the sardonic sympathy he spoke with. Hermione hated it. "She lied to you. She was going to leave you. She used you-"

"Yes," Avery said suddenly. His face was clear. "She did."

Hermione felt the world come crashing down; every window of opportunity slamming shut, blocking out the light for a final time.

"But she also saved me."

Voldemort's garish smile faltered. Avery still didn't look away from the floor. "From you. From the darkness. From myself. She saved me from falling. And I trust her. Irrevocably. With my whole heart."

He dragged his eyes to look at Voldemort

Even Hermione could not stop it. With lightning speed, Voldemort whipped out his wand, and the spell wrenched its way past his teeth as a scream:

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The green light did not travel in slow motion. It did not take an age to hit him. It pierced his chest, and the surprise on Avery's face was fresh and young. He looked like a child.

Hermione wished she could scream, but she just stayed silent. She had never believed exclusively in a God- she was too pragmatic to rule out her options, but she prayed to him then. She prayed with every part of her soul.

And he answered.

The green light, instead of being absorbed by his body, seemed to throb, growing bigger, until it was so big, and so bright, that she could not see Avery through it. And then, the light started to shrink rapidly, disappearing inside his chest as though being swallowed.

The bubble broke.

The room fell into quiet.

Avery shot her a look, shock stealing his voice. He couldn’t speak, but the look in his eyes, the horrified realisation, let Hermione know that he knew exactly what she had done. He was trembling when he looked down, the disbelief rendering him momentarily paralysed, and before Voldemort could close his gaping mouth, he had retrieved his own wand.

"You're just as human as I am," Avery said. The words had left his lips before, but he’d never meant them this much. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The spell collided with Voldemort's stomach and he started gasping, clawing for breath. His red eyes widened, and they flickered black. He looked at Hermione, shock incapacitating him-

She understood what she had to do.

"Goodbye Tom," she said, her breath quick and rushed, and she thrust the fang deep inside her stomach.

His scream was blood-curdling, and all she could see was a blinding white light as the final pieces of his soul imploded.

Hermione felt the basilisk venom invade her blood and poison every part of her body. It was odd, like being infused with icy water that burned her veins and made her feel as though she was on fire. The hole in her gut felt very real, and it hurt more than she had ever thought dying would.

Hermione clutched at the fang with bloody, shaking fingers and she stumbled backwards a few steps. The room was spinning, an incoherent blur she was no longer in tune with, and as her eyes tried to settle on something, only Avery remained in focus.

He was staring at her as though everything had been ripped away, as though this was some terrifying nightmare that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. His beautiful face was contorted, pale and frozen. His chest heaved, and he looked in pain, like his heart was breaking. Maybe it was. Avery stared at her like everything she had ever promised him was plummeting, was in the process of being obliterated.

Hermione whimpered.

The world seemed to shatter after that, under the pressure of the truth, mounting, exploding, whispering. It was ending. The world was ending, and Hermione found it strange, how after all that build up, all that pain and glory… it all ended with a whimper.

She lost focus of him, tripping over her own feet, and when she fell backwards, Avery was there to catch her. He cradled her against his body, gently, as though she might break if he didn't. His eyes stuck on the fang, protruding from her torso, and his fingers flitted over it, like he wanted to wrench it out of her in a bid to stop the poison killing her, but knew the blood she would lose if he did would end her sooner.

"Hermione," he whispered, and she'd never heard him sound so broken. Avery held her face in his cold, trembling hands. " _Hermione-_ "

She heard another body slump to the floor, and though she couldn't see him, the desperate last breaths of a mortal man reached her ears. Voldemort was dying like the human he was. There was nothing extraordinary about it.

“You saved me,” Avery murmured, and his fingers spanned her cheek, stroking her cheekbone. Hermione stared up at him, crying silently. She kept silent because if she didn’t, she’d scream. She committed every inch of his face to memory. “You used that magic on me because you knew he’d try to kill me. Hermione… you could’ve saved yourself-”

“No,” she managed to get out, and it sounded more like a sob. “You have to live. You can’t fall, Freddie. I won’t let you.”

“But you said you wouldn’t leave me,” Avery’s voice strained, cracking, and he was crying. It was the first time she had ever seen him cry like this. It was the first time she’d ever seen him break, like a balloon that had popped and could never be blown back up. His air trickled through his lips. “You said you’d _stay_ with me-”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered. She felt herself fading. The world bleached white behind him. “ _Freddie_ , I love you… You’re so _good_. You always have been-”

Avery's eyes widened. He clutched her tighter to him, raggedly, stroking her hair, which was cold with sweat, away from her face, and pressing his head against hers.

"If you die," he growled in her ear. "I'll kill you."

But whilst his voice was rough and desperate, she heard it crack. "I'll kill you, Hermione. You hear? _I'll kill you._ "

When he pulled back, he was shaking. He drained of colour at the sight of her; Hermione's eyes had closed, she looked peaceful, as though she was sleeping, but he knew she wasn't because she wasn't smiling.

" _No_ ," he whispered. "Hermione, no. Don't go-"

But she didn't move, didn't reply. Avery trailed off, and his trembling hands flitted over every part of her face, checking for any flicker of life. But there was nothing.

He screamed. It was a noise so guttural that it broke in the air, and he pulled her closer to his chest. "Come back," he begged. _"Come back!"_

And in his arms, to the sound of his screams, Hermione could die loved.

She would finally see Lily and James again.

 


	97. Chapter 97- Death’s Door

** Chapter 97- Death’s Door **

****

Hermione woke up.

She felt as though her lungs had been deprived of air, like she’d been submerged in water and had only just been allowed back up. She gasped for breath, choking on it, gulping it down in case someone ripped life away from her once more.

She stopped.

Hermione’s hand shot up to her chest, and she pushed at the flesh there. It was intact; she moved her fingers up to her neck, and they were cold, framing her fluttering pulse.

She was alive.

But she had _died_ -

There was a freshness to the world, and she felt her heart beat as though it was someone else’s, maybe that of a child. She felt clean and young, like the eighteen year old she was, not the soldier she’d been forced to become. Hermione noticed that her stomach wasn’t bleeding- in fact, there was no blood anywhere. Her shirt was clean, her skin unbroken. It was like she had been reborn.

But she just couldn’t wrap her mind around it. How was she alive? _Was_ she even alive? When had life ever been this bright, this full of light-?

“I always thought you were meant to be the smart one,” a voice said. “Harry was the sacrificial lamb. I was just there to make you both laugh, I guess.”

Hermione froze. Her heart stopped beating, every thought trickled from her mind. She couldn’t hold back the tears because she had longed to hear that voice, _his_ voice, for so long. Somehow, she had not forgotten the sound of it, and it felt like it came from inside of her. Hermione didn’t want to look.

But she did anyway.

Her mouth dropped open, and she couldn’t stop the sob from leaving her lips, because he stood there in front of her. He was whole, _alive_ , throbbing with that youth that she had always looked to. His eyes were still that bright blue, his freckles looked more distinct than she remembered. He was a galaxy, thriving and existing, tangible.

“You’ve been bloody brilliant,” Ron said, and his grin stretched across the whole of his face, crinkling his eyes like it used to when he looked at her.

"Always the tone of surprise," she laughed breathlessly, wiping her eyes and beaming at him. She couldn’t believe he was there.

Gingerly, as though he might disappear if she moved too suddenly, Hermione got to her feet and started walking towards him. Ron’s face softened, and she threw all caution to the wind, breaking into a run. He caught her, arms tightly wrapping around her waist, clutching her to him. She breathed him in and he smelt like everything she had ever held dear; of firewood and gingerbread, of toothpaste and freshly mowed grass. Ron smelt of the earth, of everything keeping her grounded.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered into his shoulder. He held her tighter.

“I’ve missed you too,” he murmured, the warmth of his words tickled her neck. This was what she had fallen asleep to for years, both the real thing and the simple thought of him holding her like this, and never letting go.

If this was death, she didn’t mind. If this was death, she would gladly give up every breath to stay here.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been,” Hermione told him, mumbling into his shoulder. Ron didn’t reply, but she heard him swallow. “I watched you die. I had to go through it all again, only this time, without you…

"I wanted to give up," she admitted and her voice barely dented the air. It was the first time she had ever voiced it aloud. "I wanted to just end it all so that I could be with you, and Harry... But I couldn't. I couldn't let your deaths mean nothing... But I guess it didn't matter anyway... Either way, I still failed. I failed you all-"

Ron cut her off forcefully, holding her cheeks so that she couldn't look away. "Don't you dare say that."

His blue eyes were burning.

"You didn't fail," he said. "'Mione, you don't even realise how much you've done... How much you've changed!"

"How?" She questioned. "How can things have changed? Everything happened as it was meant to-"

 _"Not everything,"_ Ron whispered.

Hermione stared at him. “What do you mean?”

But he just shook his head, smiling slightly. “I’m not here to tell you that.”

“Then why are you here?”

Ron swallowed, and his thumb brushed across her cheek. He smiled, and it was blinding, soft and gentle. He said quietly, “Because you wanted me to be.”

Hermione dropped her head back into the curvature of his shoulder, looping her arms around his waist again. The world she stared out at was white, not painfully, but simply, like there was no need for it to be anything else.

“Will you have to go again?” she asked.

“Eventually,” Ron replied.

Hermione tightened her arms around him. “Will I be able to go with you?”

He paused, and it was so imperceptible, but she felt the way his body tensed. Ron said, “Well that’s up to you.”

She closed her eyes, screwing them shut. His heart was beating, steady in her ears, and she desperately wanted to believe it was real but it couldn’t be. “Will Harry be there?”

“No.” Hermione started to pull away so that she could look at him, but before she could speak, Ron said, “But someone else will be.”

“What-?”

She stopped talking when Ron pressed his lips to her forehead. They were warm, and she felt the love from them, soaking through her skin. She felt breathless, but more alive than she ever thought she had. Hermione felt free.

Ron drew away, his hands still cupping her jaw, and he smiled at her. She stared at him, her eyes memorising each freckle, all his constellations; his blonde eyelashes and the sky-like blue of his eyes that were looking at her with such adoration it hurt her heart.

“I wish we could have grown old together,” Hermione told him. And she meant it.

“I wish we could’ve just grown old” Ron replied. She agreed. Perhaps there was nothing they deserved more. He brushed some hair away from her face. “Maybe you still can.”

She shook her head, frown pulling her eyebrows together. “What are you talking about?”

But Ron just smiled, a wonky sort of smile that curled his lips up his cheek, and kissed her. It was brief, final. When he broke away, Hermione had to open her eyes (she hadn’t even realised she had closed them) and watch as Ron turned on his heel and started walking away.

He got to the very end of wherever they were, on the cusp of disappearing into the light, when he turned and looked back, and he smiled.

When she blinked, he was gone.

“Ron?” Hermione called, and the panic tinging her voice became loud and desperate. She ran forward, but he was nowhere to be seen. _“Ron!”_

His name rang around the room, or world, or light, but he didn’t reply. She was left alone. All she could hear was the shakiness of her breath, echoing, ringing out. There was no one else to hear it.

“What are you doing?”

Hermione jumped. The voice came from behind her, and she recognised its drawl. She turned around.

_“Draco?”_

He didn’t look necessarily thrilled to see her, but she noticed his cold eyes were softer than usual; their iciness had melted. She remembered the last time she had seen him, the fear that had marred his face. She remembered his body to crumpling to the floor.

“Hello Granger,” he replied.

Hermione started walking towards him. She couldn’t move any faster- she was too numb, but Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, and he was real, and he didn’t move to meet her but she threw her arms around him anyway.

He grudgingly hugged her, bringing one arm up to pat her back. She couldn’t believe he was real. But he was cool and firm against her and she could feel his heart beating.

“You shouldn’t be here. Neither of you. You’re not dead yet,” Hermione managed to get out when she pulled away, bewildered at his appearance.

Draco shrugged, hands in his pockets. “We are to you.” This reply left her scandalised, but he didn’t seem too shaken up by the fact.

“You shouldn’t be,” she whispered. Draco pursed his lips, face taut. “You should be alive. You should be married, with a family of your own. You should’ve been able to grow old-”

“But I didn’t,” said Draco. “And that was my doing. Not yours.”

Hermione stared at him.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, because it was impossible not to. “Dying?”

Draco frowned at her.

“You should know.”

She just looked at him, and there must’ve been something in her eyes for he sighed and said quietly, almost sardonically, “Like being tucked in by my mother.” His eyes flicked away and back. “What about you?”

Hermione thought about it. She thought about the warmth from Avery’s body, the gentleness of his hands fleeting across her face, wiping her tears away, the way the world had dimmed, just slightly.

“Like falling asleep,” she replied.

When she blinked, the thoughts dispelled themselves, and she noticed that Draco was watching her. She cleared her throat, eyes drifting past him; the whiteness of the world made them water.

“Is this heaven?”

Draco scoffed, and her eyes cut to him reproachfully, but he said, “Do you really think that’s where you’d find me?”

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked him, staring because it was all she could do. “Where even is here? Ron- Ron wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s because it’s not his bloody job,” Draco grumbled. Hermione narrowed her eyes. He sobered up, and his smile was bitter and forced when he said, “I’m here because I’m supposed to tell you that this isn’t your time… And that you have to go back.”

She felt as though everything was crashing down, and the white of the world became blinding.

“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered. “I’ve already said goodbye. It- it all hurts too much. Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, Regulus... James, Lily, they're all gone. I-I can't go back."

It was like a switch went off in him, and he breached the gap between them. Draco cupped her cheeks, bringing her face up to look at him. It was the closest they had ever been. He wiped away her tears with his thumb.

"Hermione," he said. Although she wasn't sure whether he was speaking out loud or in her mind. His mouth moved but it sounded intimate, like it came from inside of her as it rattled her bones and his breath tickled her blood. It was odd, more otherworldly than anything else. He let his fingers caress her skin, soothing her, and he sounded sad as he said, "You were given too much time for your frail bones to handle."

Her eye flashed, incense flaring up inside of her. "I'm not weak."

Draco gave her a small smile. "No," he agreed. "And that's why you have to go back."

But she couldn't! Lily and James were _dead!_ Sirius was in _prison!_ Remus didn’t remember her. Peter was a ghost of the boy he had once been. She had failed them... She had failed them all. And now she was dead.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione said feebly. “I’m dead. I ran out of time.”

The tears started again; the wails followed and Draco wrapped his arms around her, smothering her anguish. She let him hold her close, let him whisper things into her hair.

"You're okay. I've got you. You're okay now. It was just too much time-"

And his words turned into lies, forked-tongue and a cruel reminder, and she couldn't hold back her fury. She unleashed it like a tempest, because he was wrong! _He was wrong!_

"NO!" Hermione screamed. She wrenched herself away from him. "No. I didn't have too much time. I didn't have enough time! I need _more_ of it! I need to make things right!"

But Draco's lips just curled. This angered her more.

"What are you smiling at, you obsolete blonde _prick?_ I need more time!"

He was full-on grinning now and he just shook his head slowly and said, "You always were a spitfire, Granger. You're like a dragon. I have to prod you to wake you up."

And then it clicked. Hermione's lips parted.

_"Death's Door is the threshold between the dead and the living. If you die, you've already gone through the door. But some people get stuck in limbo, kinda like one foot in, one foot out."_

"Death's door," she murmured, as the realisation hit her. "We're at Death's door! Then that means-"

She trailed off, looking at Draco. He held his arms out wide.

_"Why would Death allow that?" Hermione asked. She felt Remus look at her in the corner of her eye, exasperation seeping from him._

_Sirius looked surprised at her interest. "What do you mean?"_

_"Death would never let that happen, would he?" Hermione continued. "In the story, he dislikes being cheated. Why would he give them a way to avoid him? Why would he give them a door?"_

"So I can go back,” she whispered. Then, louder, as if it would validate what she said, “I’m not dead."

"No."

Hermione didn't say anything. Then, she bit her lip and said, "Are you sure? Because I definitely died-"

"Merlin's Beard, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart," Draco said in exasperation.

She scowled at him and snapped, "A simple no would have sufficed."

He sighed and said, "Voldemort killed a part of you. But he didn't kill the most crucial part of you."

Her eyes widened. "The Horcrux," she muttered.

"Well done," he raised his eyebrows in mock disbelief.

She ignored him.

"But... Then that means that I can go back! I'm alive! If I was dead, I'd be beyond Death's door by now!"

"You're on a roll, Granger. I honestly don't know why you wanted me here."

"Oh shut up," she replied distractedly.

Her heart plummeted then, falling through her hope and excitement, dragging them down with it. Hermione swallowed, but her throat was dry. She said, "If I go back, I'm going back to a broken world. I let it burn, Draco. The future won."

"Interesting fact about Death's door, Granger-" Draco drawled, taking no notice of what she just said, but she cut him off.

"Time doesn't exist, I know."

His face split into a smile and he shook his head. "Oh, it exists, Granger. But not necessarily in the framework you think it does." Hermione frowned, and he walked towards her. "You see, time, here, is rolled out like an old Muggle film strip. You can jump into any frame because it's all in one place, all delicate and unprotected. Time doesn't exist here because it's not linear, but that doesn't mean it's completely absent."

"Draco, what on earth are you getting at?" Hermione questioned, bewildered. He was speaking in riddles and she was still reeling from the revelation that she was alive. She couldn't play his games at the moment; her mind was too loud and preoccupied with all the other crazy things going on.

Draco sighed, annoyed with her, and said, "You said you wanted more time. So." He was close to her now. She hadn't seen him get this close. He didn't stop and his breath was hot on her face. Draco smiled. _"Take it."_

"But what about the Horcruxes? What about Voldemort?" Hermione questioned. She was breathless with excitement.

“Dark magic cannot cross the threshold once it’s destroyed,” Draco told her. His eyes were steady on hers. She reeled in this information, her breath audibly catching in her throat. He continued casually, “You see, Death only created the Door to tempt the living. Evil was not on the agenda.”

“You mean,” Hermione began, not daring to get her hopes up. But it had to be. What else could that apply to? Her voice trembled with barely concealed anticipation when she said, “His Horcruxes remain destroyed?”

The smile that curled Draco’s lips made her knees weak, and she couldn’t believe it. The relief flooded through her, heavy and debilitating. _Oh thank Merlin!_ Hermione could’ve sobbed, and her hand shot up to cover her mouth.

“When you go back, Voldemort will be as mortal and destructible as you and I.” He paused. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good comparison.”

She laughed, but it came out as more of a relieved sob, catching in her throat. Draco smiled at her, and it was so soft and awed. He tapped her chest and said, “No more darkness inside of you. You’re as virgin are you always have been, most likely always will be since Weaslebee’s not there to pity-date you.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed on him, but she recognised the teasing lilt to his voice, and simply thwacked his chest. Ever the dramatic, Draco yelped and jumped away.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she cried. “You’re dead!”

He winced. “Thanks for reminding me Granger. It was your fault, you know.”

He nudged her, but Hermione could only look scandalised, horrified at the truth of his statement. Draco laughed and said, “I’m kidding, Granger… It was a joke.” She wasn’t convinced. “As long as I don’t- I dunno, fall down the toilet whilst I’m growing up, I’ll be very much alive the next time you see me… And hopefully, less of a prick.”

Hermione couldn’t stop herself from snorting. She couldn’t prevent the amused smile from gracing her face. “You wish.”

He raised a hand to his heart in mock-offence and demanded, “Excuse me? Who’s your guardian angel?”

She laughed, but his words rang truer than either one of them cared to admit. Draco watched her.

“So,” he said abruptly, clearing his throat. He looked behind her. “Where do you want to go? Or should I say when?”

Hermione followed his gaze, sobering up. They stood beside one another, staring at what had just appeared. She moved forwards carefully.

Embedded in the ground was what looked like a river, sectioned off into little rectangles, and dropping away. As she got closer, she realised that what filled them was not water, but memories. They swirled, shining, like fish that darted about in a lake that was contrived from all of her thoughts and feelings, her triumphs and miseries.

Hermione walked along the edge slowly. Each box was something different; there was her death, and she watched as she bled out in Avery’s arms, the look on his face that broke her heart. There was the day she found Lily and James’ body, and Hermione watched as she stepped over them. That one was too painful. She closed her eyes and moved on.

There was the day of Harry’s birthday, and she was filled with the same calmness she felt then, when everyone breathed freely because they were sure the war was over.

There was the meadow when Avery kissed her so hard she saw stars.

There was Regulus, and Hermione heard his screams as he disappeared under the water, gargling and choking until there was only silence.

And there was Lily, on the floor of Godric’s Hollow, holding a newly born Harry in her arms, with James crying beside her. The next one was of their wedding, and Hermione watched as they twirled around, laughing and smiling because their love was eternal.

There was the night they had all laid on the grass in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, drunk on their youth and their friendship because it was all that mattered then, it was all that kept them alive.

And there was the day she fell from the ceiling onto Sirius’ lap. She stifled a laugh at the shock on his face…

And there was Draco, dying so that she could live, and Ron and Harry, and they all laughed by the fire, uncaring that the fate of the world was breathing down their necks because they were alive at the moment and that was that.

Hermione stopped. She stared down into the next memory, and it felt as though it was playing through her. She sat down, dangling her legs over the edge, teetering into it.

“That’s a nice one.”

Draco came to sit next to her, and his legs bumped into hers. Hermione hummed.

“Yes, it is.”

Hogwarts had never been as beautiful as it was during her first year. It was the memory of sitting with Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor Table, and laughing and talking and breathing in all the magic in the world. She felt her heart sigh a little at the sight.

“We’re so distracted by how things end, we usually forget how beautiful the beginning was,” Draco said quietly. A small smile curled his lips and he nudged her shoulder with his. It was such an innocent thing to do, but it made her heart ache for him and he seemed to realise her grief, for he slipped his hand into hers and squeezed her fingers tightly. The pressure was so real and Hermione let herself be lulled, even it was only for a moment, in the pretence that he was _really_ sitting next to her. She imagined she could hear his heart fluttering with her own.

They both stared out at the world. “It was a beautiful beginning, Granger, don’t you think?”

Hermione turned to look at him. He smiled slightly.

The light behind them grew brighter, strong and powerful. They both climbed to their feet, watching as it closed in, ensnaring them, until they were the only two things left in existence.

"It's time to go and be happy, Granger."

She turned to face him, one last time. She smiled.

"Thank you, Draco."

And he was crying too, and it was so hauntingly tragic. There was so much there, between them, both felt and unsaid and he said lightly, "Don't speak to me like we're friends. You know we're not."

Hermione shook her head. No, they weren't.

They were so much more.

Hermione watched his face, watched as his smile gave way to sorrow, a grief that suffocated her. She was crying silently. "What did you say?" She asked, remembering him stumbling over something before he'd sent her away all those years ago, or in all those years to come. "That day, what were you trying to say?"

But Draco just smiled at her. It was a sad smile, with a weighty sort of finality to it, and Hermione felt herself crumble a little more, her tears fell faster. He said, "You should go."

“ _Draco_ ,” she pleaded. He closed his eyes for a moment, his throat bobbed, she saw the veins there.

“Why did you do it?” She asked him softly.

Draco looked at her then, his blue eyes suddenly light and steady.

“Because the world needed a saviour, Granger,” he said. Hermione felt her heart flutter at the smile he gave her. “And who else to save it but you?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I LOVE YOU ALL SO SO MUCH! AND IT’S NEARLY CHRISTMAS SO MERRY CHRISTMAS!


	98. Beginning

**Beginning **

****

“The raid was a disaster!” Someone was stressing, when Hermione next came to. “Voldemort got away! We nearly had him!

She felt her heart beating in her chest, loud and hard, but it wasn’t painful. Whilst her body ached, and she felt like her own worn self again (the weight of life relentlessly pressed down upon her shoulders), the steady thrum was comforting. It told her one thing, reminded her of everything:

She was alive.

This time, she knew it was real because the world wasn't _sur_ real. Hermione felt electrified, like every part of her was highly strung, finely tuned to the sudden intricacies of life but it didn't overwhelm her. It was like she was included in it all again, rather than observing from the side-lines. She heard the voice as though it was right next to her, echoing through her head. She felt someone sitting at the end of her bed for the mattress dipped by her feet. She felt each breath trickle past her lips.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and a groan left her lips. The discussion going on ceased immediately, and through half-closed lids, Hermione saw a flash of red hair.

“Back from the land of the dead, poppet?”

She blinked, and for a moment, she thought she must still be dreaming for she saw two of them. Their red hair was flaming against the paleness of their faces, (they looked like knights on fire), and their grins were like that of the Cheshire Cat’s. She frowned. They disappeared from her view fairly quickly.

“Hermione? Are you alright?”

Lily’s voice was the sweetest thing she had ever heard, and when Hermione saw her, she felt her throat close up. All she could do was stare at her. She sat up, eyes glued to the freckles that dotted her pink cheeks, and the shine in her green eyes. Hermione saw the life and concern and love sparkling there, and she threw her arms around her. She was alive. She was alive, immortalised through nerve and fluttering heart, not stone and legend. _She was alive_.

“Oh,” Lily said, and she didn’t know what to do but she hugged her friend back, stroking her hair. Hermione clutched her tighter to her, closing her eyes and relishing in the heartbeat she felt against her chest.

“ _Oh_ _God_ ,” whispered Hermione, and her arms were holding her so tight. “I love you. Lily, I love you so much.”

Lily frowned, but she didn’t let her bewilderment show. She just rubbed her back, and said, “I know. I know and I love you too, Hermione.”

Hermione was crying. She couldn’t help it. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears came regardless because Lily was alive. She was a galaxy, _existing_ , loudly and beautifully, like she should be.

When she pulled away, she wiped at her face. Lily was still as beautiful as the day Hermione had first laid eyes on her, all porcelain skin and emerald eyes and flaming hair. She was like an explosion of light and warmth. Hermione clung to that; everything was so painfully real that it left her breathless.

“I know we thought she was a nutcase before this,” someone said lightly, and Hermione looked to see Fabian and Gideon standing just behind Lily. “But this is really taking the biscuit.”

“Yeah, we’re following a lunatic into battle!” Fabian cried. She couldn’t help but laugh, even though it made her dizzy. They were so Weasley, but it didn’t hurt. It just made her smile.

Deeper into the room, Caradoc was staring at her, and the impatience tinged his furrowed brows. Still, she could see the concern, and Hermione smiled at him. His face cleared, and he offered her a brief smile back. How was she supposed to tell him that they’d fought together, killed for one another? That he was her partner? Though it seemed impossible, she was sure she'd find a way. She wouldn't lose her partner again- she refused to.

Datner made his way over, softening as he sat on the edge of her bed. “You had quite a nasty wound.”

“I guess you could say that,” Hermione grinned at him, and he tried to hide his confusion but failed. She began to climb out of bed, but Lily moved to stop her.

“Your leg-!”

“I’ve had worse,” she assured her. The irony was not lost on her. Lily's lips pursed as she considered this.

_"Lily?"_

The shout echoed up the stairs and Hermione felt her blood pound around her body more vivaciously and passionately than before. She could only whisper his name, drenched in disbelief and made inaudible because of her blinding hope, and she jumped off the bed. Hermione ignored the calls from behind her, trying to encourage her to rest, and the sharp pain that shot through her leg with each step, and flew out of the room.

She stopped at the top of the stairs.

He was a bundle of intricate nerves and bounding heart, of courage brewed in the face of death, sewn through skull and bone and hazel eyes and a crooked smile, and he was alive. _He was alive._

Hermione’s breath was stolen from her.

She ran at him, skipping every second step, and his eyes widened behind his glasses but he still caught her when she jumped from the bottom stair, swinging her round. She clutched him close, gripping him so tightly so that no one, not even Death, could take him away.

"Hermione!" James exclaimed. His voice reverberated through his chest.

When she drew back, she noticed his glasses were wonky on his nose and fixed them. He smiled at her and his puzzlement knitted his eyebrows together and parted his lips.

"Hey, what's wrong?" James asked softly, concern pulling his smile down. His thumb brushed along her cheek and Hermione realised she was crying again.

She could only shake her head, for every explanation came out as a rush of air.

"Did you bang your head?" a voice asked from behind James, and she peered over his shoulder to see Sirius. He looked amused, though there was no mistaking the fondness with which he regarded them. "You're acting odd."

"Odder than usual?" Hermione questioned teasingly.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, lips curled upwards. "I hadn’t thought it possible but yes."

He laughed and the sound was youthful and booming. He was loud and explosive, that supernova on the brink of destruction. He was colossal, a star of indescribable audacity. He was _whole_.

Sirius said, "Well it's nice to see you're not dead, kitten."

Hermione neglected to correct him, merely reached out and locked her fingers through his. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly.

"Who's not dead?" Remus asked obliviously, eyebrows raised as he came up behind them all.

His eyes grew gentle when they landed on her, and he moved forward in the same second, fumbling for something. His face and ears were pink and a string of frustrated Welsh streamed from his lips when suddenly he stopped. Bashfully, Remus procured from his pocket a small blue flower. It was slightly battered, curling into the palm of his hand. Hermione felt her throat stick, and she stared at him. He offered her a half-smile, and said quietly, “Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of bright blue flowers for her, but because of the weight of his armour, the knight fell into the water. As he was drowning, he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted-”

 _“‘Forget me not!’”_ Hermione finished for him, and it was almost a whisper. Remus’ smile widened.

“Exactly.”

All she could do was stare at him. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; of course her atoms would find his before everything ended. Or in this case, after. She'd known they always would.

"Hermione!"

Hermione spun round to see an exasperated Lily standing at the top of the steps.

"You're _supposed_ to be _resting_ ," she said, descending the staircase. James kissed her head when she came to stand beside him. Hermione found herself snagged on the sight.

"There's not enough time," she replied dismissively, jilted back into the present.

Lily frowned. "You've got all the time in the world!"

"That's not enough," said Hermione.

Lily's lovely eyes widened. "Hermione. You're acting like a _lunatic_! Your _leg_ has just been _sliced_ _open_ and _poisoned_ by dark magic-"

Hermione spied Sirius over the top of Lily's head, and he rolled his eyes at her. She bit her lip to hold back the smile. He mimed a yawn, but was quick to drop the act and raise his eyebrows innocently when Lily looked at him (still ranting).

"-This is a war! You need to go back to bed and rest! I will not lose you as well-!"

"Oh my God," Hermione said suddenly. She felt paralysed to the spot; her blood pumped around the whole of her body, spreading the numbing realisation. Lily's last sentence had reminded her of something. How had it taken her so long to realise...?

"What?" asked Lily, forgetting her previous rampage, and surrendering to her worry. "What is it?"

"I have to go."

James frowned. He gestured towards her leg wildly. "'Mione, you're- well, _incapacitated!"_

"Way to sum it up, Prongs." Sirius slapped him on the back. "Perhaps you could give Evans a lesson or four on brevity."

Lily scowled at him. Hermione raised her eyebrows at James.

"I've survived worse," she told him, and he incredulously started spluttering out excuses.

"I'll be right back," she promised, and Hermione felt electrified as she bolted down the hall, artfully dodging Peter, who jumped out of the way then watched her with wide eyes, and out the door. She didn't even think before she disapparated.

“Has she lost it?” Peter asked fearfully, after a moment or two.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, leaning back against the wall. His arms were folded leisurely across his chest, his dark eyes were locked on the spot she had just disappeared from; a faint smile curled his lips. “I believe she lost it long ago, Pete.”

**oOo**

Hermione couldn’t stop pacing.

Realistically, she knew she shouldn't be this anxious because there was no way she could be wrong about this, but a part of her (a very big part of her) didn't know what she'd do if she was. What if it hadn't worked? What if the timeline had changed? What if he was still-?

That was why she made her wand go hot for a fifth time in the last three minutes. This time, she got a response.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a voice drawled, and Hermione turned around to see that Avery had appeared in the little kitchenette. She felt her breath leave her lips at the sight of him. His eyes were just as dark as she remembered, but there was less heartbreak there. He looked younger, not necessarily happier, but lighter. He was just as beautiful as she remembered. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Missing me already?”

She didn’t even stop to think. Without a moment’s hesitation, Hermione moved towards him. She watched as his eyebrows pulled together, and she kissed him. She kissed him like the first time, like there were fireworks that needed to go off or they’d explode. She kissed him because she had thought she would never be able to do it again, and she’d died in his arms and he was the only reason that she had been able to die loved, and to not kiss him would be a waste of time. Those very same arms came up to encircle her now, and they were as warm and safe as they had been then.

Hermione drew back to breathe.

Avery had his eyes closed, and he opened them muzzily, looking at her as though the world didn’t make sense. She supposed it didn't, not really. “What-?”

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” she said breathlessly, in way of explanation.

Avery swallowed thickly, nodding and patting his hair down. He said, “Oh. Right.”

“Freddie, I-” Hermione began, but stopped. He looked ragged, and open, like all of his regimented straight lines had been smudged. She swallowed, hoping it would be easier to get the words out if she did. Eventually, she managed to say, “You’re very good. And I admire you greatly and- and honestly, I owe you more than just my life and I… I meant it. When I said I’d stay with you. Because there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Avery looked at her, and there was a reply frozen on his parted lips. His cheeks were pink, and there was that openness to him still, like he was unguarded. But something, or some _one_ , interrupted the moment before the words could melt on his tongue.

Regulus Black apparated into the little kitchenette, spinning slightly from the impact of his travels. His eyes swept over the pair of them and he grinned apologetically.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ripping his scarf and overcoat from his body and throwing them on a countertop.

Hermione could only stare at him. He was everything she remembered him to be; happy, young and untarnished. She remembered all those nights she had spent dreaming about him, just imagining him there, laughing that high-pitched laugh that bubbled from the back of his throat and spilled out through his grin. She thought of Peter Pan, the boy who had never gotten to grow up, and the little battered copy that she had carried with her, even on her last mission to defeat Voldemort because it reminded her of what she was fighting for. Regulus would grow up now. She’d ensure it.

Her legs moved before she could really stop them, and she knew she’d have to stop throwing herself at people at some point, but it was the only reaction she could warrant, the only one she could rationally comprehend. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling her to him, and there was a sound of surprise that was smothered by her hair. Regulus hugged her back regardless.

“Hey,” he said softly, and he shot Avery a bewildered look over her shoulder. Avery shrugged, acting as though this was normal, but he was still visibly thrown off. A strand of hair still reached towards the ceiling. Regulus pressed his cheek against her head and rocked them. “I’m okay. I was only late because Kreacher was making me something to eat. That’s all. I wasn’t hurt-”

Hermione didn’t let go of him, but she pulled back. Her smile was blinding, melting away his worry.

“I love you,” she said, squeezing him. Regulus blushed, and he tripped over his words, but the smile on his face was telling.

“I love you too.”

“Why, now _I’m_ feeling unloved,” Avery commented blandly, and Hermione sent him a grin.

Though she didn’t let go of Regulus’ waist, she let him manoeuvre them to lean against the counter. She relished in the feel of his heart, thudding erratically against the side of her head.

“How’d you manage to escape anyway?” Avery questioned, and she noticed that, though his voice was empty and demanding again, the pink tinge of his cheeks remained.

“They thought I was crazy,” replied Hermione.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve always been crazy-”

“ _Crazier_ , then,” she amended, rolling her eyes. Regulus grinned at the pair of them. "Then I made a run for it."

“You’re surprisingly chipper to say you’ve just been poisoned by dark magic,” he commented and he looked amused by the fact.

Hermione looked at him, drinking in the sight of him because it had been so long since she had last had him here, breathing, living in front of her. She just shrugged, and said, “I’m not dead. I’d say that’s a victory.”

Regulus’ smile faltered slightly, and he rubbed up and down her arm. “And I’m not going to let that happen.”

There was an honesty, a burning, when he looked at her; his eyes were clear and steady and dark. He looked like he’d looked before he’d stepped off the boat, and the Inferi had dragged him to their depths; older, more aware, more light than she could ever comprehend. Now she realised why he was named after a star.

She said quietly, “I know,” and smiled at him. "And I'm not going to let you fall."

Regulus swallowed, his throat bobbed, and he just pressed her closer to his side, slotting her head under his chin.

"Not this time," Hermione whispered.

**oOoOoOo**

She apparated back to Headquarters much later that evening, when the sun had kissed goodbye to the sky and its love was streaked across the heavens in reds and yellows for the entire world to see. The door closed with a click behind her, and the house was quiet, enveloping her in its serenity.

She waited for a moment, allowed herself to breathe deeply, swallowing as much quiet as she could because it was the first she had tasted in a long time.

Hermione called out, “Hello?”

_“In here!”_

She followed the voice to the living room, where she found them all sitting. It was as small as she remembered; a poky room with walls the colour of darkish blue. Although not strategically feasible, there were multiple armchairs crammed into the corners, and a leather settee that had a huge gash in one of the cushions from when Sirius had impulsively transformed into Padfoot and fallen off the side. Lily and James were squeezed into a chair by the window, and though they looked squashed, their legs were a delicate tangle and they were interwoven in the loveliest sense of the word. Sirius had claimed the sofa, stretched out along it, with his feet resting in Peter’s lap. Despite the availability of three other armchairs, Remus sat on the floor. Sirius’ fingers were threaded through his golden hair, his neck craned back, revealing the fluttering of his pulse.

The fire, which stemmed from a vast fireplace, far exceeding the appropriate grandeur for such a small house, exuberated a warmth that made her toes tingle. It was like a blanket, and Hermione was wrapped in such a thrall of contentment that she felt herself momentarily short for breath.

“Hello you,” said Remus, smiling at her.

She tried to speak but could only remain silent, incapacitated in the door way.

“James wanted to send out a search party but we managed to convince him that you were only a danger to yourself,” Sirius told her.

James’ eyebrows were knitted deeply together when he said, “That’s what I was worried about.”

Though they shared a laugh, Peter watched her carefully.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her in a quiet voice.

Hermione smiled at him. “I’m good. I feel good.”

His eyes flicked to James and back, and he realised they were all listening to the exchange. Pete swallowed, and he seemed to be trying to ask his question in the nicest way he could. "What happened?”

She looked at him, saw the concern in his blue eyes, and part of her faltered. For some reason, the truth got caught on her tongue.

They all regarded her with that innocent mortality, the very thing that guarded the twinkle in their eyes and the youth in their smiles. They were full of hope and love- they were bursting with it. Hermione wanted them to live that way for the rest of their lives. She never wanted them to lose it.

Their story had been horrific. It had been gruelling and unfair and tragic, and there had been times when she'd wanted to give up, times when they'd all wanted to give up. But it had also been beautiful. That beauty was the only thing that had kept them going.

"Everything's just how it's meant to be," Hermione replied.

And that was the God's honest truth of it. They were finally going to get their happy ending.

"I wish it was how it used to be," said Peter quietly. "Remember how happy we all were?"

"Yeah, we were pretty lame," James joked.

"I would gladly be lame if it meant I got to spend the remainder of my life with you all," Remus said.

The flickering of the fire, washing over them, and embracing them all in its warmth, was the only thing that could be heard in the next few seconds. The honesty of his words rendered them all silent.

"You know, someone once told me," said Hermione finally. "That we're so distracted by how things end, we usually forget how beautiful the beginning was... Our beginning was beautiful, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. His grin was magical. "But let's make our ending a monumental distraction. Let's make it just as good."

Remus was smiling, and he shook his head and said, "No. Let's make it better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!


	99. Life

** Life **

 

Life continued as it had done the first time round and Hermione lived it as decadently and beautifully as she had then, perhaps even more so. Everything was ephemeral and bright and they savoured it. They used it to breathe.

The Beatles crooned delicately in the background, and their music was sweet, just as sweet as the sunlight and the large lilies which centred every table. A lazy and content smile played at Lily’s lips and she laid her head on James’ shoulder, eyes closed. Her red hair was loose, flowers threaded through small braids which Mary had spent hours perfecting. The white dress she wore was lace, ending just below her knee, simple and yet utterly extraordinary. Just like Lily.

James couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and he was holding her to him as though she might disappear from his arms, as though this was all some mesmerising dream which he would soon wake up from. His eyelashes were still wet and sparkling, from where he had cried as he’d watched her walk down the aisle.

They waited as the record stuttered, and the next song started playing, soaking them in transient bliss. Sirius said wistfully, “I remember when he was a midget, tripping over his legs because they were too damn long… Now look at him. He’s married, Moony.”

Remus smiled, eyes finding James too. There was an unparalleled love there. _“He’s all grown up,"_ he said light-heartedly, then added, "You know, I reckon if you’d have told third year us that this would happen, they would’ve-”

“Pissed themselves laughing,” Sirius finished for him, amused.

“Something like that.” Remus continued to watch their friends. He looked to be deep in thought and there was a second of silence before he said, “They’re both such extraordinary people. They deserve all the happiness and more.” He paused. “They’re like suns. And we’re lucky enough to witness their light.”

Their wedding was an irrevocably simple affair; a little white marquee bathed in the spring sunlight at the bottom of the garden at the Potter Manor. All the Order members attended, along with their parents and although there weren’t actually that many people, there was enough happiness to encompass them for eternity.

And just as James had predicted what seemed like a lifetime ago, Peter gave a speech, telling stories of how heroic he was and how James Potter was the best thing to happen to him, and he spoke of that day, so many years ago at Hogwarts. He recalled how foolish they all were to ever doubt Potter’s charm. Many laughed, but the four boys just smiled, because even though they were in the middle of a bloody war, everything was finally falling into place.

Sirius raised his glass for a toast and managed to make no less than forty three deer-related puns before Remus finally put a stop to the abomination. He’d then taken up the spotlight and very modestly and sincerely told them that they were the greatest people he knew, and that they could only continue to be greater together.

And then Hermione got to her feet, and the room fell quiet once more. She looked out at the people, at the smiling faces. There was the fire of Fabian and Gideon’s hair, and the electricity of their grins, and the glistening blonde of Marlene’s curls; her red lips were stretched into a gorgeous smile. Dorcas and Emmeline were sat next to each other, their fingers interlocked.

Finally, her eyes fell on the people at her table, the ones who she loved more than anything else in the world. She looked at Peter, who was holding Mary’s hand, with his soft dopey smile and ears that protruded from the side of his head, tinged pink because Mary had just kissed his cheek. Remus was sat next to him, eyes gentle and loving and face fresh and new. There were no scars cutting through his freckles, and when he smiled at her, Hermione remembered why she had fallen in love with him. Sirius was sitting next to him, his arm slung round the back of his chair. His hair had been cut to his shoulders, and his eyes twinkled. He was so beautiful, but then again he always had been. He winked at her.

And then there was Lily. She looked like an angel, with her halo of bright hair and green eyes that were as warm as they had been the day she’d told Hermione that they could make this her home. James sat beside her, their fingers adorning complimentary rings. He was young and free with not a care in the world. And everything was like it was meant to be.

These were the people she had died for. These were her family.

“I always said that I was here to save people,” she began. Her grip on her glass was tight and constricting. Just past James, she saw Sirius sit up straighter. There was a reassuring steadiness to his dark eyes, and it was enough to give her strength to continue. “To save _you_. And then I realised… that I was so caught up in trying to save you that I didn’t see that it was actually you who were saving me. And I can never really thank you enough for that.”

Hermione was crying, smiling at them. Lily wiped at her eyes.

“You taught me how to live, and how to live _beautifully_ , and you became the home I needed. And it was only because of you, and because I was so fortunate to bear witness to your love, that I realised just how dear life is. I learnt just how powerful love is.

"Because that's the thing about love," she said, remembering Peter's face as he'd told her, feeling his words echo through her all those wasted years ago. "If you love someone, really love them, you don't just stop. You can't. You love them even though it hurts to, even though it tears you apart, because you know, although it doesn't feel like it, that it's the only thing keeping you together... It's the only thing keeping you alive."

Hermione trailed off; their life had been messy and unpleasant, sometimes more like a nightmare that they wished to wake up from than the dream they deserved. And they had endured it, because they couldn't afford not to. Their legacies had become the only thing that mattered, or that's what they had believed, because it was the only thing that would outlive them. How foolish they were to think that life was something you could prolong.

“We’re all stories in the end. We’re all forgotten moments and past smiles, and tears shed in the dark of night. We’re alive now but one day we won’t be. One day, we will return to dust and our atoms will be used for something else, maybe something better, maybe not. We’ll continue to exist, just for a while, just for as long as we’re remembered. And let’s say that’s not a long time, but it’s long enough for us.”

James stared at her, knowing that her words trembled with more honesty than anyone else could ever imagine. She smiled at him, and his soft eyes crinkled. His lips mouthed the words, ‘ _I love you._ ’

Hermione remembered the cold vacancy of his face, as he’d lied on the floor, unmoving, still. He had been an explosion of nothing, a supernova of emptiness. There had been only death when there should have been life.

But she also remembered all of his faces before that. She remembered the sleepy softness of that morning when he’d told her she was enough, and given her his tea which was far too sweet for her liking; the love and tenderness of his face when he’d held his newborn baby boy. She remembered the euphoria and the pride when he’d won his Quidditch matches, and the shock when Lily kissed him for the first time. She thought of his youth and his love, and everything that had kept them all alive.

“James, Lily,” Hermione said. She was crying and she meant every word. “Your love will exist forever. And I can honestly say that your love and your life is enough to save the world. It’s enough to save me. And _my_ _God_ , is it enough to save each other.”

And as it turned out... It was.

The war was terrifying, but, within the gnarled darkness, they somehow found snatches of light.

**oOo**

**June 1979**

They found it in the time Hermione took Sirius to the little kitchenette and told him that he would not fight on the opposite side to his brother.

"What are you talking about?" Sirius asked quietly, his voice barely a murmur in case his hope got the better of him. His face was deathly pale; throat tight, jaw clenched.

Hermione held his hand, and he was trembling. "This is a war. I'm not letting either of you die without the chance to have a brother. I thought you'd like to see him."

Sirius stared at her for a moment, jilted into utter speechlessness, before he tugged on her hand, pulling her into a hug. He tucked her under his chin, embracing her so closely and tightly and said in a voice that made her think he had his eyes screwed shut to stop the tears, " _Oh Kitten_."

And so they waited in the quiet of the kitchen. Sirius' dark eyes traced the floor, and it seemed like he was scared to look anywhere else. Hermione squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers right back.

"Hermione?"

Regulus apparated into the kitchenette, and the question left his lips before he had chance to see them, worry drenching his voice.

"Are you okay? What's happened-?"

He stopped when he saw his brother. Even Time seemed to stop to witness the exchange, because it was something it had been waiting for, something it had been depriving them of. It had dragged its feet in preparation for this, and would not miss it for the world.

"Reggie," Sirius said, and his name trembled in the air between them, in all the wasted years.

Regulus stared at him, face pale and drawn. "You left." His voice was low, like it was the only alternative left to screaming and leaving without another word.

Sirius closed his eyes. The vein in his neck pulsed. When he looked at his baby brother, he was torn, ragged, fraying at the edges. He looked more like the sixteen year old with the bruises in places you couldn't see and the heart so big it was bursting through his broken ribcage, but he pursed his lips and remained silent.

Regulus shook his head. "You left," he said again. "You left _me_... With her... With _Him_. You left. And you never even looked back."

"I'm sorry," Sirius tried, and the apology caught in his throat.

"Yeah," Regulus replied quietly. He was crying, through straining not to. His voice slowly became louder and louder until it threatened to fracture the air itself. "I'm sorry too. Sorry that I had to grow up without a brother. Sorry that you're stood over there and I'm stood over here. Sorry that I'm apologising when I shouldn't be, because none of this is _my_ fault-!"

He broke off, looking away sharply. The kitchen stilled, where not even the wind dared to move for fear of disrupting the moment.

"I just wanted my brother," Regulus admitted eventually, in a voice so broken and vulnerable that Sirius saw him for who he really was, what he had always been; a scared little boy. The same little boy who needed him to check under the bed for monsters, and cut up his steak for him. The same little boy who would climb into bed with him every morning, regardless of what day it was, and ask the first question that popped into his head. The same little boy who only read Peter Pan and slept with a secret lion teddy, because it represented everything _they_ didn't. The same little boy that he left in a house full of those same monsters Sirius had had to check under the bed for, without so much as a look behind him.

But he was looking behind him now. He could not continue without his brother.

"I'm here," he said, moving forwards and Regulus couldn't even move away so Sirius wrapped his arms around him, clutching him so tightly, as if he was scared the world would wrench them both apart again. "I'm right here."

Regulus relaxed, and he brought his hands up to grip Sirius' back. He burrowed his head into his brother's shoulder, relishing in the warmth of him, in the reassuring beat of his heart that he had fallen asleep to for so many years.

He finally had his brother back.

Hermione watched, and she couldn't stop herself from crying, for she realised something:

All children, except one, grow up. This is because they have to. They must, as growing up is a part of life. What the adults neglect to tell you is that growing up isn’t losing your youth, nor surrendering your freedom- it is embracing the world as your equal. Once you realise the world is not your adversary, or your audience, and only then, can you make it your opportunity. Growing up is not so difficult. It is learning, and loving, and _living_ in your own wonderful way. And whilst some might choose to go about it alone, it is always lovelier to go about it with a friend. Even better, a _brother_.

**oOo**

**November 1979**

She counted down the seconds until-

"What are you still doing up?"

She mouthed his words, feeling a small smile curl at her lips. It was the middle of the night when Hermione turned around, and saw Caradoc coming towards her, not for the first time (though he didn’t know that). He was still fully dressed, but his white shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, and he'd undone the top few buttons. He'd also taken his jacket off to reveal brown slacks and braces. He looked ruffled, like he'd just run his hands through his golden hair. Hermione no longer thought it strange how different he looked when he wasn't working, stressing about the future, because she had seen him happier. She already knew this was what she looked like.

She exhaled and returned her gaze to the garden. Over the tangles of the hedge, Hermione could see the skyline; a barely visible slip of society, where stubby chimneys stretched to touch the clouds. There was nothing beautiful about it- the chimneys were all uneven, and the terraces were crammed together, with hardly any room to breathe, but just the uncouthness of the sight made her heart warm.

"I can't sleep," she said. Though rehearsed, he didn’t realise.

Caradoc finally came to stand beside her, arms crossed. "Why not?"

She smiled, and she recited, _"'In my heart, there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep.'"_

His lips stretched into a small smile. "Macbeth. Very good."

Hermione remembered their conversation the first time round, and she looked at him and said, “I know you don’t trust me. You don’t know where I come from or how I know everything that I know-”

“I never-” Caradoc began, but she just smiled at him.

“But I can assure you, I’d die before I’d betray any one of you. I’d die before I'd lose this war. In fact, I wouldn’t even stop there.” Her smile was amused because the honesty behind her words was completely missed by him. “I’d come back to life just to change it.”

Caradoc was watching her, and there was a little bit of disbelief and a little bit of awe glimmering in his eyes. He shook his head and said, “Hermione Granger, where did you come from?”

“Berkshire,” she replied, and her lips curled in amusement, her eyes returned to skim the rooftops. Caradoc shot her a bewildered look.

They both stood in silence for a short while, staring out at the night sky, pondering on how odd it was that the chimneys could not pop the stars.

"I didn't realise you were a snake," she commented casually a moment later. Caradoc looked at her sharply, though he relaxed his defences when he caught the playful glimmer in her eyes.

"Yeah, as much as you're a pussy cat," he replied, and the smirk curling his lips was almost imperceptible.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "A lion, I'll have you know."

"Whatever," he said and his nonchalance irked her beyond belief. He noticed this and huffed a laugh.

All of a sudden, he sobered and Caradoc said carefully, "Why is that surprising anyway?"

Hermione recognised the tightness in his voice; it was one associated with the years of stigma he'd faced. She'd heard it on someone else.

"It's not," she said. "The bravest man I ever knew was a Slytherin."

Caradoc faltered, and he said after a moment, "What happened to him?"

"He died," she said simply. "But he taught me that bravery isn't what a hat decreed you. It isn't being immune to fear. It isn't stupidity or brashness... It's swallowing your fear and doing what is right because you know it's the right thing to do. And if someone has got to do it..." She felt Draco's words echo through her. "Who else to do it but you?"

Hermione looked at him, and she cleared her throat because the softness had made her lose her voice. Caradoc was watching her gravely.

He said, "He sounds like a good man."

"Oh, he was," Hermione replied. "The best without a doubt. Though he was also a colossal prick... He was a good man." A smile tilted her lips. "It's just a shame it took me so long to see it."

Caradoc's eyebrows knitted into a small frown. "Did you go to school together?"

"Yes," she replied, then added, "The first time round."

He was still watching her, and there was something etched into the deep grooves of his face. "Then we'll win this war. For him."

Hermione could only stare at him, overcome with such emotion she could not fathom.

“You’re a great leader,” she told him truthfully. “You know that, right?”

Caradoc stayed quiet, but his throat bobbed.

“And I respect you a lot,” she continued. He finally looked at her, and there was something burning in his usually stony eyes.

“Do you mean that?” he asked.

“Of course,” Hermione said earnestly.

There was a moment when the silence swallowed them, and they let it because the serenity was rare and valuable and welcomed.

"Is this the end of the world?" Caradoc whispered eventually, casting his eyes out at the garden of Headquarters.

Hermione felt a small smile curl her lips. "No," she said. "Not even close. Believe me. I've seen it."

**oOo**

**July 1980**

Lily’s labour lasted a total of four hours, and those four hours were as equally tiring and magical as they had been the first time round, where there was a lot of screaming, swearing and sobbing (predominantly on James’ part). But eventually, the room fell quiet and small screams could be heard. Hermione took the baby into her arms, trembling because she could feel the pulse of his life on her fingertips. She sniffed, but the tears came anyway. She should’ve been used to holding him, but she found it was just as miraculous as all the times before. His face was screwed up as he cried but she shushed him gently, holding out her finger for him to hold onto. He quietened then, and only then, looking up at her with big, green eyes.

He had his mother’s eyes.

He was such a beautiful collection of stardust, of blood and bone, of heart and nerve. Granted, he was tiny at the moment (weighing perhaps 6lbs in all), but Hermione could feel his importance, feel the love for him like it was the oxygen in the air. She looked at Lily and the laugh sounded more like a sob as she gave him to her.

Lily cradled him close, whispering soothing words and stroking his soft cheek. James peered over her shoulder, eyes wide with wonder as he stared down at his son. His throat bobbed and he looked up at them all and whispered hoarsely, _“I have a son.”_

Sirius wiped roughly at his face (he would later demand that he was _not_ crying!) and Peter, though still shaky, smiled widely (the kind of smile that consumed your face and lit up your eyes)- not for the first time since he’d gotten here. Remus looked as though he couldn’t quite believe it.

Lily swallowed, and her voice was sore and throaty from her screaming, but she looked at them all and smiled, before she looked back down at her baby, her own flesh and blood, and said softly, “Harry James Potter.”

James looked at his wife in awe, kissing her cheek. Then, he smiled and said, _“Hello Harry.”_

**oOo**

**January 1981**

There were fewer missions. The only time the Order ever went out was to tackle Voldemort’s forces when they terrorised villages and tried to cause distress. The Ministry was still a mess, but it didn’t matter. The Order had it under control. Though it was still a war, it was manageable.

Dorcas and Emmeline got married sometime in the January of 1981 at Headquarters, and though Marlene had cried both kinds of tears, Hermione knew that she was happy for her best friend. She remembered the way Marlene had stared down at Dorcas’ body, and it was like all her life had been drained from her. When Hermione had watched Dorcas dance with Marlene though, she realised that love was beautiful in whatever form it took.

Regulus had come along as Sirius’ plus one, albeit hesitantly. Though Hermione had gladly accepted her role as babysitter and sat with Harry on her lap, she found her eyes kept straying to the two brothers. Eventually, late into the evening, Sirius had somehow managed to convince Reg to dance with him (she suspected some spiking of drinks had been involved), and the latter was laughing that high-pitched laugh that bubbled from the back of his throat as his brother spun him around and around until he was gasping for air.

“This is what it’s supposed to be like, isn’t it?”

Hermione turned to see Remus standing nearby, two drinks in hand. He passed hers to her and said, “One sugar, no milk with a spoonful of honey. I thought you’d prefer something warm.”

She took it graciously and said, “Thank you.”

Remus smiled and sat down beside her. “You’re welcome.”

They were sat outside on the doorstep, as inside was so crammed full of people they’d had to escape out here to breathe. James had claimed his son back and had flown him round the rooms, diving between everybody, so that Harry’s giggles overpowered even the music so Hermione sought refuge out here. The garden was quiet, cut off from the celebrations.

“Everyone is happy,” Remus continued. “Everyone is alive... I almost feel like we’ve missed something.”

Hermione looked at him. “You can’t miss something that never happened.”

His amber eyes met hers.

“Time feels _right,_ don’t you think?” he said, and though an odd question, she found she knew exactly what he was talking about. They let the quiet of the night abscond them, and sat in content silence for a few moments. The frost in the air made them feel lucid as day.

"Do you want to go back?" Remus asked her, picking at the grass as though he couldn't care less. The determination with which he avoided looking at her was enough to suggest otherwise.

Hermione glanced at him, then out at the chimney skyline. She shook her head. "No."

"Not even a little bit?"

She looked at him fully, and smiled. It was small and soft. "Not in the slightest."

Remus finally forced himself to look at her. He began, "But your friends-"

"Are here," she finished for him. Hermione noticed the way his shoulders slumped, like he'd been holding his breath and had just let it out. She bumped her arm with his. "Besides, I reckon you need me more than they do."

"You're right," Remus replied. "We'd surely starve to death."

Hermione frowned. "But I don't cook."

"Good God," he cried, flopping his head down onto her shoulder. "Do you not see? The world falls apart without you!"

She pushed him off of her, and he rolled over so his head was lying in her lap. She hurriedly lifted her tea up so he wouldn’t spill it.

“You’re starting to sound like Sirius," she told him and his face morphed into one of horror.

"Oh dear Merlin."

Hermione peered over him, smiling brightly, and he looked up at her, expression as clear as the sky.

His amber eyes were shining; she could see the dying sun reflected in them. The gold threaded through his hair sparkled, and her smile softened. She counted his freckles.

“I want to stay in this moment forever,” she whispered.

Remus smiled. “That sounds lovely,” he replied, just as quietly.

And they remained like that, and Hermione knew that although they were not together, they would always be in love, on some level.

All the energy they'd ever given out, every vibration and bit of heat that ever left their bodies, would continue forever, warming and touching the lives of each other. So you see, they'll always be together, somewhere, for a little while, at least.

**oOo**

**April 1981**

“I'm glad you could come at such short notice," Dumbledore greeted, sitting down and folding his hands on the desk in front of him. Hermione's breath came out as a long and ragged sigh through her nose. There was only one thing he could possibly have to tell them. She wished that somehow, for whatever reason, it would be different because all she could hear were Dumbledore’s words to her, spoken in a lifetime that did not exist:

_“Prophecies cannot be loopholed, Miss Granger.”_

_She felt her bones shaking and asked desperately, before she could stop herself, “Was there any way-?”_

_“If Sybill Trelawney had spoken a different prophecy, perhaps. Time cannot be meddled with by human hands,” said Dumbledore, and he smiled sadly. “Though we are magic, we retain our mortality.”_

James swallowed and said, "What's this about, Professor?"

He was pale and there were large bags under his eyes, only partially obscured by his square glasses. He looked ill, but whole. Hermione focused on the magic Harry was exhaling and tried not to let the trepidation devour her.

"At the end of last year," Dumbledore began gravely, "I was in need of a Divination teacher for the school. I interviewed all the applicants at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade… And one of them happened to be a Seer, with a great ancestry. A Seer who made a Prophecy in my presence."

Hermione closed her eyes, and she felt the air rush from her lips. She was swallowed by dread.

"Professor," Sirius said flippantly. They all looked at him. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what does this have to do with us?"

Dumbledore levelled his gaze on him, but Sirius didn't shrink away, merely raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps, it would be easier to show you."

"What's he doing?" Peter whispered, but Hermione didn't answer him. He seemed to notice that her face was paler than usual, for his face cleared of confusion and he said, “Hermione? Are you alright?”

She didn’t reply, and he slipped his warm hand into hers.

They watched as Dumbledore lifted the tip of his wand to his temple, closing his eyes and withdrawing a long and wispy trail of memory. It fell from his head, writhing in the air, looking like white smoke. He twirled his wand slightly, and the memory started playing.

Having been in the bedroom at the inn only once before, Hermione recognised the small room as though it was something from a far off dream. Professor Trelawney looked the same; her hair was still a frizzled brown, and her green eyes were magnified behind large black-rimmed glasses, making her look like some sort of giant insect. She was frozen, eyes wide and clouded over, and the memory-Dumbledore appeared calm as he watched her, though the twinkle in his eyes was absent.

Professor Trelawney wheezed, fingers clutching the seat of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. There was silence for a moment longer, and then she inhaled a shuddering breath that sounded more like an inverse scream. Hermione felt the hair stand up on her arms. Beside her, Peter looked mutely horrified, as though he were trying to hide the affect it was having on him. She tightened her grip on his hand. He jerked.

"Sybill?" Memory-Dumbledore questioned carefully, moving to get to his feet, but Professor Trelawney groaned again, a guttural sound that came from deep within her, and he stopped.

Her voice was low and croaked, almost as though it was someone else speaking through her. Hermione felt the chill at her words:

_“The one with the power to vanquish the darkness has come, born from time itself, married to the shadows… Death will shudder in her wake… She is the saviour… The Hope… She is the light...”_

The memory dissipated. The office was plunged into silence. It was so deathly quiet that they could all hear the erratic thumping of their hearts.

Hermione didn’t think she was breathing.

Lily whispered, "I don't understand. What does that mean?”

“The light,” Sirius murmured. His dark eyes found Hermione, and she could only stare at him.

Dumbledore said solemnly, "Miss Evans, I do believe that Sybill Trelawney’s prophecy could be only one person...” His blue eyes, as bright and shining as they always had been, were solemn as they levelled on Hermione.

James followed his gaze, and realisation made his cheeks drain of colour. “No,” he said. “It can’t be... It can’t be-”

“Who else could it be?” asked Sirius. He had his arms folded across his chest, and he looked older than she’d seen him look in a long time. “ _’Born from time itself.’_ Who else could be the light?”

Hermione stared at the floor. She felt everything as though it was heavier than it had ever been before. Time exploded, and everything was frozen. All she could hear was her own breathing.

“Hermione,” Peter said, and she was wrenched back into the present. They were all staring at her. Lily was crying.

And yet, Hermione couldn’t feel sad. She looked at them all, before her eyes fell on Harry. He was waking up, blinking blearily, and when he caught sight of her over his mother’s shoulder, his entire face lit up and he smiled.

She had saved them. She had saved _Harry_.

“Hermione,” Sirius said, and he came over to stand in front of her. He looked so upset, so worried, and he sounded like he was trying not to cry. “I only believe in three things,” he began.

“The Chudley Cannons will never win the league, no matter how much James seems to think otherwise,” Hermione started for him, and something changed in his eyes.

Behind him, James made a sound of protest, but they paid him no attention.

“The eventual decline of society,” she continued. “And-”

 _“You,”_ Sirius finished, eyes burning.

Hermione smiled.

It was a big smile, more of a beam, and her relief flowed out of her because after all these years, all this fighting, all this death and heartbreak and sadness, she had done it.

Sirius frowned, bewildered at her reaction. She looked at them all, and whispered, “ _I did it. I saved you.”_

**oOo**

**October 1981**

“Granger!” Avery hissed, and Hermione’s eyes shot to him. A vein was pulsing in his forehead and he gritted through his teeth. _“Get down.”_

As if on cue, a green spell whizzed past her head, brushing her ear, and she fell to her knees, throwing herself behind an overturned armchair.

Eyes roving the room, she found James and Sirius taking cover behind the settee, firing spells every now and then when it got quiet. James noticed her and his eyes widened behind his square glasses, which were askew on his nose. Sirius sent her a wink.

Hermione shot a stunner blindly over the cushion, and judging from the thud of something hitting the floor, she guessed it hit her target. She peered around the side, and narrowly missed another killing curse, which she responded with a body-binding spell. Avery witnessed the exchange, and was quick to send a spell of his own (one that was a dark purple in colour so she could only guess his intentions).

Hermione waited a second, before looking again. The Death Eaters were all on the floor, and her suspicions were confirmed. Whilst three of the four were merely unconscious, the fourth had passed out from blood loss, and was covered in small papercuts that marred his entire body.

She could only stare at him when she stood up. Avery got to his feet, brushing the dust from his dark robes, and looked at her. He followed her gaze and demanded reproachfully, “What?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” he said.

“I _admire_ your choice of spell,” she replied.

Avery rolled his eyes, and huffed. “Your sarcasm is duly noted and not appreciated. Now go. Before more of them come.”

Hermione grinned, but she acquiesced nevertheless. Before she left the room, she turned to James and Sirius and said, “Don’t let anyone through.”

They saluted, and she left them as they started to levitate the furniture to block the door, and conjured thick rope which they tied the Death Eaters up with and hung them from what was left of the chandelier.

Avery led them deeper into the Manor. They both had their wands out in front of them, just in case, though Avery was much more relaxed. They had only been walking a few minutes when he sighed loudly, arm dropping, and Hermione shot to look at him.

“What?”

He was staring at the wall, lips pursed together. “I rather liked that painting.”

She frowned, following his gaze, and noticed the massive slash in an oil canvas to her left. She scoffed, and Avery raised an eyebrow.

“That painting was worth more than your entire house,” he told her calmly.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “That reminds me, your armchair may be ripped.”

He stopped short to look at her. “The green one?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows innocently and he cursed under his breath. She laughed, bumping her shoulder with his when he stopped abruptly. The corridor they had been walking along came to an end before a set of dark, double doors.

Though she had been in this position before, Hermione could not help but feel that same sort of anticipation bubbling in the pit of her stomach. There was no protection this time, no safety net to preserve their life forces. Avery’s chest was moving silently and she swallowed. Everything came down to this.

“Do you still think I’m crazy?” she whispered.

“Most definitely,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

They looked at each other, and both of them smiled, stealing one more second of joy before it all came crashing down. Avery sobered first, watching her smile, and he swooped down to kiss her cheek. Hermione faltered.

“Let’s kill Voldemort,” he said, as though nothing had happened, and he pushed the doors open. She followed him immediately.

He looked so different to how she last remembered him. His skin was pale, but not quite that sickly white it would become, and his eyes were ebony black. He was beautiful, and she momentarily lost her breath. He was human, because Time no longer fled from him- Death had taken him once, it was not afraid to do it again.

“Hello Tom,” Hermione said.

Voldemort’s face cleared, and his eyes fell on her. There was surprise there, but there was also a sliver of fear. He knew he was mortal. He knew that she was there to kill him.

“Do you really think you can win?” he asked her. His voice was lovely; smooth and baritone. She could not help but think it a pity that such beauty was wasted.

“Yes,” replied Hermione. “You see, Tom, I’ve been in this position before. You were stood there. I was stood here.”

He watched her coldly, though she recognised the hint of bewilderment in his human eyes.

“That time, the prophecy was different,” she continued. “And you had gained immortality. And when you died, I died with you.”

“What are you talking about?” he snarled.

Hermione regarded him coolly. “You’ve heard the prophecy, Tom. I’m born from time itself. None of this should surprise you.”

He wasn’t looking at her, but rather cast his eyes out of the large window he was stood at. His jaw was clenched. His long eyelashes cast a shadow against the marble of his cheek. He looked disinterested, as though she wasn’t a real threat and it infuriated her. She had not died to be treated like some sort of housefly.

 _“Look at me,”_ she said forcefully, and he did. One eyebrow was raised. “I want you to look at me when I kill you. I want to see the light leave your eyes.”

His face had cleared. He was staring at her, frozen into place, incapacitated because nothing she said made sense to him. She was just a girl, and yet there was nothing funny about her threats anymore. He recognised the intent. He saw the fire, the _light_ , flaming in her eyes.

“Who are you?” Voldemort whispered.

Hermione shook her head slightly, a small frown pulling her eyebrows together, and she said simply, “I’m Hermione Granger.”

He had barely time to steal another breath.

“Goodbye Tom. _Avada Kedavra!”_

The green light spiralled from the tip of her wand, groping towards him, and he could not move out of the way. The fear that contorted his face was raw and profound, because he saw oblivion and it terrified him. There was no escape.

In the end, Tom Riddle fell to the floor, the life sucked from him. He was dead because he was mortal, and the prophecy had been fulfilled because there is no way prophecies can be loopholed. Hermione had been taught that the hard way, though she had learnt from it and changed the world.

“You did it,” Avery said numbly and she turned to face him. She hadn’t realised it but she was trembling.

Though she hadn’t seen him clearly (everything was faded and unclear), she blinked and his white face came into sharp focus. He looked drawn, like he couldn’t believe what had happened. His dark eyes were wide and young and he looked at her and said again, “You did it.”

Hermione just offered him a half-smile, though it wasn’t quite real. She said, “I told you I was crazy enough to.”

Avery’s face softened and he looked at Voldemort’s body, but the sight seemed to sicken him, for his eyes returned just as quickly to her face. “I never doubted you for a moment.”

She looked at him in exasperation and said, “You insulted my intelligence more than once. And insinuated my plans were foolhardy!”

“They _were_ foolhardy,” he pointed out, though he was smiling slightly. “Every last one of them.”

They shared an amused look, before Hermione felt herself grow solemn once more, and she whispered, “Now the monster’s dead.”

Avery raised his chin slightly as he remembered their conversation from so long ago. He said, in a voice as equally as quiet and final, “So does this mean it’s the end?”

She let herself smile. “I guess it does.”

**oOoOoOo**

_“Why did you do it?” She asked him softly. The light was so blinding now, calling her home, and she knew that she’d have to hurry before she missed her chance forever._

_Draco looked at her, his blue eyes suddenly light and steady._

_“Because the world needed a saviour, Granger,” he said. Hermione felt her heart flutter at the smile he gave her. “And who else to save it but you?”_

_She looked down at the memory, swirling by her feet. It had changed. Instead of the scene of her First Year at Hogwarts, it showed Headquarters- the original one. She was lying in the 'hospital' bed, with Lily draping a wet cloth over her forehead. People came and left the room, a constant stream of life she would never get to touch. Hermione knew it had to be this._

_It was the very first moment she had realised that they were in a war, and that people died in wars. It was the first moment she had realised that they were only human._

_"Is this when you're going back to?" Draco asked, peering over her shoulder._

_Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away, and though there were other memories, other moments of realisation, ones where she had wished she could remain forever, there were none quite like the wholeness of this one._

_"You'd better go," Draco said. He was looking at her._

_When Hermione turned to him, she felt a sharp desire to stay. To pass on the baton to someone else- she could always find her solace in death now. Voldemort was dead, the world was saved._

But you didn't set out to save the world.

_Hermione threw herself at him, clutching him tight and she felt him hug her back. The pressure from him was so real she could almost kid herself. Their hearts beat too perfectly in time._

_Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel and began walking away, wiping at her cheeks because tears had begun to fall. Of all people, she laughed, it was Draco Malfoy she would miss the most. It was Draco Malfoy that she was having trouble walking away from._

_“Hey Granger?”_

_Hermione turned around._

_She hadn’t realised how much space had stretched between them, but when she looked back at him, Draco was a mere body against the light. She could still see his faint smirk._

_“Good choice.” Hermione felt the smile pull at her lips and she turned to continue walking._

_“And Asphodel.”_

_She spun around, frowning at him. He was a simple pinprick in the distance, but she could hear his voice like it was next to her. “For your leg.”_

_Hermione’s face cleared, and she smiled at him. The past engulfed her, and everything was so white it was blinding. She could feel time slipping through her fingers, and her years caught her up. She felt like she was aging a year every second, gaining back all of her knowledge and experience, all her pain and heartbreak, all her euphoria and passion until-_

“The raid was a disaster-!”

Hermione smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: THERE IS ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT AND I FEEL LIKE CRYING!!!!!!!!
> 
> This is so so so surreal. It’s very late currently, so I shall save my soppy author’s note for next chapter but I just want to quickly say that I love you all very much, and I could not have done this without you and THANK YOU for having faith in me and sticking with this (very) long-winded story. You inspire me so much, and I cannot even begin to explain the effect you have had on my life.
> 
> Goodnight for now:) (or good morning if you’re across the pond).
> 
> By the way, my laptop is broken (AGAIN!??!?!!!!) so I can’t reply to any messages at the minute but I will try try try to do it as soon as possible because I love talking to you guys!


	100. End

** End **

 

**Ten Years Later**

The platform was an explosion of life; of loud, boisterous laughs that erupted from throats, crackling the air, and murmurs of conversation, which she only caught snippets of as she came out of the wall.

Hermione felt the smile pull at her lips.

The Hogwarts Express, that vibrant red, stood proudly, pulled up at the station and though they weren't late, some children had already started to board; their beaming faces peering from the windows. Steam billowed from the chimney, and the thrum of excitement danced with the horn. She felt her bones settle. This was the sight that had started it all; this was the beginning of adventure. It was the pinnacle of magic.

_“Woah!”_

She stumbled as someone collided with her back, and she felt hands reach out to steady her. Hermione spun round and she came face to face with a sheepish Remus Lupin. His cheeks were tinged pink, his hair cut short but still that golden colour; the same colour as his eyes, which were wide as they looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She opened her mouth to reply, but all that left her lips was a short laugh, and she flopped her head onto his shoulder, grinning. Remus leaned his head into hers. He was smiling.

“Honestly, you’re still as mad as a box of frogs," he murmured. Then added, mock-indignantly, "It was  _your_  fault. You were in the way.”

“Charming,” she replied, stepping back, though she was still grinning. He raised his eyebrows in amusement at her, and they stared at one another for only a few seconds longer when they were both nearly taken out.

The three bodies, their limbs tangled, and groans of pain mingled, barrelled into the opposite wall.

"What kind of plonker stands in front of the entrance?" Sirius Black demanded incredulously, detangling himself from the pair of them and straightening his leather jacket. "Or should I make that plural?"

Hermione and Remus shared a look and could not stop themselves from laughing. Sirius cast them both an exasperated glance, but he allowed himself a small smirk.

He had grown out his hair, so it now reached his shoulders, and he looked no older than he had the day Hermione had fallen from the ceiling and onto his lap. There was a maturity to him, and his skin was kissed with age, but he retained that youthful glimmer in his dark eyes.

Remus, in contrast, had perpetual crinkles by his eyes and lips, and his freckles seemed to have multiplied, like a galaxy expanding. He was still young, and he was not the grey tired Professor Hermione once knew, looking forty when he barely touched thirty, because he had not grown up lonely; his bones were young because he had been loved, and had loved so fully in return, that age seemed to suit him, like a well-worn jumper that smelt only of home.

" _Honestly_ ," Sirius said.

Remus raised his eyebrows at her. He was fixing his cardigan, and his fringe tickled his eyelashes. Hermione beamed at him.

"What are the three of you doing?"

They spun round to see James Potter staring at them, accusation narrowing his eyes. He was pushing a trolley, which was piled high with a Hogwarts trunk and a cage containing the most beautiful snowy owl Hermione had ever seen. Hedwig twittered irritably.

"I already have two children. I don't need the added responsibility of you lot as well," he said, and though he seemed resigned that he had to tell them off, there was no mistaking the fondness behind his square glasses.

“You’ve had the added responsibility of us for twenty years. Are you only just realising now?” Sirius pointed out. Remus elbowed him in the ribs.

Hermione smiled at James, and said, "We’re terribly sorry, Jamie. It won't happen again."

He narrowed his eyes at them, fixing them with his sternest 'father' look, gauging the exaggerated sincerity of their faces.

Finally, he hummed, and said, after looking around to make sure no children could hear him and lowering his voice to cement the fact, "Fine. But just so you know, fuck around again and I'll tell Lily!"

Sirius held a hand to his heart and cried, " _You wouldn't!"_

"I would!" James assured. He nodded his head behind him. "Now come on. We need to find Harry. I don't want him boarding the train without saying goodbye. He's nervous enough as it is."

And so, the four of them weaved their way through the throng of children and parents, eyes peeled for any sight of Lily's flaming red hair, or Harry's wild black. Hermione spotted Neville, trying to escape the clutches of his Grandmother as she rubbed some dirt from his cheek. Both Frank and Alice were Professors at Hogwarts, newly appointed this September. Frank taught Charms, Alice; Herbology- she understood where Neville got his passion from. Just past them, she recognised the flaming red of the Weasley’s. Molly was fussing over the twins, who appeared to have lost their wands. Next to her were her brothers, and Fabian and Gideon looked as rugged and carefree as they had during the war, and twice as mischievous as they spoke to their youngest nephew.

She stopped walking.

Ron was staring at them with a slight distrust, though the admiration was palpable. He was fresh-faced and young and happy, and Hermione felt her heart stop beating.

“Would you  _mind_  where you’re- Oh.”

She turned around to see who had bumped into her. Her eyes found his platinum blonde hair first, then the aristocratic points of his face. His icy blue eyes narrowed then widened.

“I’m sorry,” Draco Malfoy said, and though his voice was still that drawl, he was less pompous. Sincerity would have been odd on him if she hadn't seen him adorn it once before.

Hermione smiled. "That's okay," she replied softly.

They stared at one another, and then Draco cleared his throat and said, "I'll proceed to watch where I'm going. Excuse me."

He skirted round her and Hermione spoke before thinking, calling after him, "Draco, wait!"

The eleven year old paused. He looked at her, expression frozen on his face. Bewildered, he began to ask, "How do you-?"

But she cut him off. "The beginnings are often the most beautiful, don't you think?" Draco didn't reply, merely stared at her. Hermione smiled and said after a moment, "Don't forget to savour it."

And she left him standing there, dumbfounded by the soft recognition in her eyes; her words replaying in his head.

She'd only just managed to catch back up to her boys when she heard her name ringing through the station.

"Auntie Mione!"

Hermione turned around just in time to see Harry running towards her. She beamed at him, about to inform James that she'd found his son but he had gone. The crowd of people had swallowed the three men up so she waited for Harry to reach her and catch his breath.

"How're you feeling?" she asked him, crouching down so she could look into his eyes.

His face dropped, and he swallowed nervously.

"That bad?" She asked. Harry nodded silently. She smiled, and said, "You know, I remember my first day at Hogwarts like a dream. It was the best day of my life."

"Better than getting married?" he asked her dubiously.

Her eyes widened. She whispered, "Yes, but don't tell Uncle Freddie."

Harry grinned, but mimed zipping his mouth, locking it up and throwing away the key. Hermione did the same.

"What about friends?" he questioned, suddenly worried once more. "Did you make lots? Apart from mum and dad, I mean."

She neglected to tell him the intricacies of that, and instead, Hermione answered truthfully, "No. I didn't have any friends for weeks. In fact, people took the micky out of me. And then, on Halloween, I was attacked by a seven foot Mountain Troll, and two amazing boys saved me. We became best friends after that. Inseparable. I loved them with all my heart… They changed my life."

Her voice grew soft and mellow, and she smiled slightly at him but he had no idea. Harry's green eyes were wide and excited, shining with that childish awe he always adopted when she told him a story. Ever since he had been able to talk, Hermione had told him stories; stories of monsters and heroes, of dragons and goblins, of friends fighting together and loving together, to the point where it had become a weekly thing. On Sundays, when they all met up at Godric's Hollow, Harry would sit by her feet in front of the fire and she'd tell him a story, sometimes even bringing her words to life with magic so that dragons contrived of green sparks would swoop by his ears. He had no idea the significance of her words, nor how her stories were never quite as fabricated as he sometimes believed, or how those events had shaped his very existence.

"Dad and Uncle Padfoot?" he asked.

It took Hermione a moment to remember what they had been talking about, but when she did, she shook her head. "Oh no, those two come into the equation much later."

"Yeah, your Auntie Mione fell onto my lap," Sirius said, coming to stand behind her. He looked at his Godson knowingly. "I told you, Harry. The ladies loved me so much they practically _threw_ themselves at me-"

Hermione hit him in the shin, and he broke off, inhaling sharply. She winked at Harry, who couldn't hold back his grin.

"Now, come on," she said. "Your father's more worried than you are. You know what he's like, he's clucking like a Mother hen. He’ll be driving your mum crazy!"

Harry laughed, but allowed Hermione to take his hand and guide them through the crowd.

They found James fairly quickly, but only because he was a head taller than all the other parents, and his messy mop could be seen from the other end of the platform.

"There you are!" he exclaimed when he saw them. He pushed the trolley into Remus’ hands (the force of which made the latter stumble backwards) and came forwards. James knelt down in front of his son and said, “You okay, champ?”

Harry gulped but nodded. Hermione’s eyes flicked between father and son, and when James looked at her, she just smiled. He understood.

He said encouragingly, in that voice that made you feel like everything was all going to be alright, “You know, Harry, you’re gonna have the most wonderful time at Hogwarts. You’re gonna learn spells that rival your mum’s, and have adventures that match Auntie Mione’s. You’re gonna make friends just like your Uncles and you’re not going to want to come home for the summer, never mind Christmas!”

Harry watched his dad through wide eyes and asked nervously, “But I _can_ come home for Christmas, right?”

James laughed, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Of course you can. To me, mum, Poppy, your Uncles and Auntie Mione. And we’ll write to you. Everyday. Twice a day!”

Harry giggled, when James reached up and gently punched his arm. He then held his shoulder and said solemnly, “Harry, if you don’t like Hogwarts, we’ll bring you straight home and teach you magic ourselves.”

“We’ll do what now?”

James blinked, looking behind him to see Lily and his daughter coming to stand next to Hermione. The little girl wore her six years daintily, and her white dress, reaching her knees, was already dirtied. She was holding her mother’s hand, and they had the same hair of burning red. Her face was dotted with freckles and she was laughing at Sirius, who was pulling faces at her.

James shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. “Nothing dear.”

Unlike Harry, their daughter had been an expected baby and when Lily had given birth and held her close, James had had that same expression of disbelief and softness, though he, of all people, should know that something so beautiful could only come from love.

_“What are you going to call her?”_

_The question had been met with a moment of quiet, and then Lily had looked at them all, green eyes shining, and said, “Poppy. Because she came from the end of a war.”_

_The name was oddly suitable; much like her flower counterpart, Poppy had been birthed from the darkness. She was a symbol of hope._

_Harry, only five years old, had climbed from his father’s lap onto the bed, and held his baby sister’s finger. He grinned when the little girl stopped her crying and regarded him through matching eyes. He looked at both his parents, then back at the baby and sang, “Poppy, Poppy, Popsicle.”_

“And don’t worry about the Sorting Hat either,” Sirius said good-naturedly. He picked Poppy up, as she had been standing expectantly by his legs, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and began twirling his hair around her finger. “It might smell a little bit and talk your ear off but he’s harmless.”

“Sirius, you’re talking about a piece of Wizarding tradition, which has been passed down for centuries,” said Remus.

Sirius’ lip curled. “That explains why it smells.”

Remus’ face cleared and he shot a look at Hermione.

Harry looked between them all. The fear in his eyes was turbulent but restricted. “And what happens if the Hat wants to put me in Slytherin? Fab and Gid said that Voldemort was in Slytherin!"

“Well, we’ll kick you out of the family,” replied Sirius easily.

Harry looked scandalised. Lily kicked Sirius, shooting him a wide-eyed warning look, and he swallowed the squeak of pain to get out, “Kidding! Obviously.”

This didn’t seem to appease him, however, so Hermione crouched down beside James and said earnestly, “Then you’ll be in Slytherin. But that’s not such a bad thing. I find ambition to be a desirable trait- something your Uncle Sirius _doesn’t_ have, let me tell you.”

Sirius, affronted, opened his mouth to argue, but Remus punched him this time. He sealed his lips, putting Poppy back down so he could deal with the pain.

“Honest?” Harry questioned unsurely.

Hermione smiled, and held her pinkie up. “Honest,” she said.

Harry touched it with his own.

"Besides," she continued. "Some of the bravest men I ever knew were in Slytherin. It’s a great House, Harry. And you’ll make it even greater if the Hat puts you there."

Harry was looking at her with shining eyes and his smile was genuine and blinding. He didn't say anything straight away, but threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her neck and mumbling, "Thank you Auntie Mione."

Hermione felt her heart warm and she hugged him back. 

"Mary and Peter are here," Remus informed them when she pulled away, and they all followed his gaze to see their friends coming towards them. Peter was grinning, waving wildly. 

Harry's eyes lit up. "Uncle Pete!" 

He raced off to meet them, with Lily and Poppy running behind him and Remus following with the trolley. Sirius remained and James stayed long enough to look at her, eyes burning and earnest, and say, "I love you."

The grin stole across Hermione's face and she pushed him to his feet and said, "I know. Now go."

James flashed her a smile and went running after his family. She got to her feet and stood with Sirius. 

"What did Dumbledore want?" he asked her, sending Peter a grin.

Hermione looked at him. "You know about that?"

Sirius scoffed, giving her a look that clearly said, _'Of course I know about that.'_

“Of course you do,” she muttered. Sirius shook his head disparagingly at her.

"Who do you think Remus talks to in bed?!” he demanded. “ _James?"_

She raised an eyebrow. "It wouldn't surprise me."

Sirius' eyes widened but he ignored her last remark.

“So?"

"That's the last time I tell Remus anything," she told him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, what's your business is all of our business. That's how we work!" 

Hermione scowled, but nevertheless said, "He offered me a job."

_"Professor?" Hermione peered around the door. "I got your letter. You wanted to see me?"_

_"Ah yes, Miss Granger. Come in."_

_When she entered the office, the first thing she noticed was Fawkes. The bird was remarkable, a flame of orange and red, alight on his perch. Dumbledore was stood next to him, stoking his head._

_He looked gentle like this. His aged face was deep with lines, and when he was left to the serenity of free time, that was free of even war, Dumbledore looked like the old man he was, not the leader he had to be. He was allowed to be human._

_She was almost hesitant to break the solace._

_"Sir?"_

_Dumbledore looked over at her and the smile that graced his face was genuine. He said, "I don't think that's necessary, Miss Granger. After all, you are no longer my student. And Sir makes me feel old."_

_Hermione grinned and amended, "Very well. How can I help you, Albus?"_

_Though the name was foreign on her tongue, it appeased him and he continued._

_"Professor Meryl has decided that she would prefer to spend the rest of her days lounging on the sunny shores of France, and not in the wilderness of Scotland," he explained. "That leaves me without a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."_

_His blue eyes twinkled with the promise of his offer and he said, "The position is yours if you want it, Miss Granger. I have no doubt that you can teach students how to defend themselves, though hopefully they will not need it as much as you did."_

_Hermione didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth to reply, but found the words got stuck, closed it, then managed to say, "Profess- Albus. I'm honoured, truly but- I think I've done enough fighting for two lifetimes, don't you?"_

_His smile softened._

_"I understand, Miss Granger," he replied gently._

_"But I know Caradoc would make a better teacher than I would," she continued quickly. "He's a very skilled wizard."_

_"Is Mister Dearborn interesting in teaching?" Dumbledore asked._

_Hermione shrugged. "I can talk him round."_

_After a moment's thought, she added, "Besides, he led the Order through the war. How different can a class of talkative twelve year olds be?"_

_They shared an amused smile, before Dumbledore said finally, "Very well. I shall write to Mister Dearborn with my proposition. But do you have any idea what profession you wish to enter, Miss Granger? I'm sure all of the Departments are grappling for The Light?"_

_Hermione grimaced at the nickname and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. She now understand how Harry had felt. Dumbledore was staring at her, waiting for her answer._

_In the end, she said, "Something peaceful."_

_A serene smile graced his face. "That sounds lovely."_

_He turned back to Fawkes and Hermione took this as her cue to leave, but as she turned back around to descend the staircase, something made her hesitate._

_She looked back, and the words left her before she could really stop them, bubbling from her stomach. She knew he'd probably have no idea what she was talking about, but he was Dumbledore, and Dumbledore always seemed to know what she was talking about._

_“I did it,” said Hermione._

_Dumbledore stopped for a moment, and his blue eyes looked at her. He blinked. “Did what?”_

_She opened her mouth to explain, but caught herself, just in time. She smiled._

_And though the obliviousness was apparent, in every groove of his wizened face, there was still that knowing glimmer in his eyes, curling the corner of his lips. Hermione nodded slightly, and she turned to leave, but paused once more._

_When she looked back at him, Dumbledore had returned his attention to Fawkes. The Phoenix was striking, and by the way the bird was leaning into the Headmaster’s hand, she guessed it was close to its rebirth. Hermione pondered on the fact that everything beautiful seemed destined to suffer, or was it that beauty was a product of suffering? Perhaps both._

_“Thank you,” she said._

_A slight frown creased Dumbledore’s face. “Whatever for?” He looked at her apologetically. “My memory fails me even now. I am but an old fool, clinging to my wisdom. Fortunately, remembrance is not a form of wisdom, but of youth.”_

_Hermione’s smile widened at his cryptic ramblings and she said, “Just thank you.”_

_It was at that moment that Fawkes burst into flames. It was an almighty sight, and the flames were of the deepest red and brightest orange, dancing upwards before descending in a pile of ash. Hermione could only watch, and both she and Dumbledore stood in bated silence, captured in the moment, as the ash began to move. The little chick poked its head up._

_“Magnificent creatures, aren’t they?” Dumbledore asked her pensively. “Born from the ashes of their own destruction.”_

_“They’re a little bit like people in that respect, don’t you think, Professor?” Hermione said._

_His eyes refocused and he smiled at her, peering over the top of his half-moon glasses. “I think they are a lot like people in that respect, Miss Granger.”_

"Wise choice, Kitten," Sirius said but there was a softness to his voice and eyes and he wrapped an arm around her. "Something peaceful sounds nice."

"Says the Auror," she replied sarcastically, bumping her shoulder with his. 

He grinned at her. “Though I’m not sure I agree with Caradoc. That man scared _me_! Think of the children!”

He threw himself onto her dramatically, and Hermione laughed, pushing him off. “There’s no one better suited than him, regardless of how terrifying _you_ find him.”

Sirius rested his chin on her shoulder and asked, “What about me?”

“ _Least_  of all you.”

He had the gall to be offended, clutching at his heart. Hermione shook her head, but he was smiling.

“I’ve nearly finished my book, you know?” she told him.

Sirius’ eyebrows raised in interest. “So what’s this one? You’re…?”

“Seventh.”

“Well done, Kitten,” he said, voice fond and proud. His eyes widened a fraction and he suddenly got excited. “Does this one, by any chance, feature a dazzling prince whose good looks stun all those who look at him?”

Hermione thought about this for a minute before she hummed. “No. It’s purely non-fiction. That means, real people.”

“I- you- how dare- I _know_ what it means-!”

"Hands off my wife, Black," a voice drawled and Avery came to stand beside her. He was infinitely tall, and dark, with black hair that skimmed his cheekbones and long eyelashes framing his eyes. His face was pale, a wedge of finely sculpted marble. He was still beautiful. If anything, Avery seemed to have grown more beautiful with age. He knew it as well. Though not smug, he carried himself with an air of sophistication and poise. She often found it difficult to tear her eyes away from him when they snagged for more than a second. His hand found hers, and he sent her a smile.

Sirius pulled a face. Even after ten years, their relationship did nothing but disgust him. Avery seemed to know this for his lips were curled upwards with the ghost of a smirk.

Sirius pointed warningly at him. "You're only on the Christmas card list because you're married to one of my best friends," he said.

Avery's smirk became a full-on grin. "I look forward to this year's. I particularly liked your satire of Father Christmas' elf. Though I can't say green does wonders for your complexion."

Sirius' eyes widened dramatically and he demanded, "I'll have you know, it brings out the green in my eyes!"

Avery raised an eyebrow. Sirius narrowed said eyes, though there was no real animosity lurking in them. He suddenly spied Dorcas and Emmeline, emerging from the barrier, with their two children (they had adopted a brother and sister who had been made orphans during the war) and went to meet them. Hermione waved, though didn't go with him. Dorcas winked at her.

Hermione turned to her husband, thwacking him hard. He looked at her reproachfully.

"You do know how to wind him up," she berated.

Avery raised his eyebrows. "It's purely friendly banter."

She scoffed, though allowed him to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer.

"The desire to murder me has not been in his dark, pretty eyes since our fourth wedding anniversary."

Hermione looked at him in exasperation.

"We've only been married four years," she pointed out.

"Exactly. His rage at me marrying you is long gone."

Though he spoke matter-of-factly, Hermione recognised the lightness of his voice and couldn't help but laugh. He smiled, pressing a kiss to her nose. She leaned into his chest.

A thought struck her then, causing her eyebrows to furrow deeply and she drew back and demanded, “Where is he?”

Avery sighed, but humoured her regardless. He raised his eyebrows. “Where’s who?”

"Pan." Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Our  _son?_ ”

He raised his chin in realisation and said calmly, “His Godfather has him.”

“Is that a good idea?”

As if on cue, Regulus came speeding towards them. Above his head, controlled by his magic which stemmed from the wand held tightly in his hands, was a baby, soaring and flying around people. The baby had a tuft of dark hair and was giggling, squealing and smiling happily. Every time he laughed, a bubble would hiccup from his toothless beam, flying until it popped. 

He was wearing a fluffy lion suit, complete with tail and mane, and Hermione smiled proudly when she saw it.

Avery rolled his eyes, lip curling. "What is he still doing in that?"

Pan's eyes lit up when they saw her, and he seemed to move faster towards them, causing Regulus to walk quicker, tripping over cages and loose cases in his haste to keep up.

He grinned when he caught sight of them and sang, " _Peter Pan! Peter Pan! Fly away to Neverland!"_

Hermione held her arms out and Pan flew straight into them. She held him close to her chest, and he nuzzled his head into her cheek. 

"What have I told you about flying him with magic?" she demanded when Regulus stopped.

Though sheepish, he was too joyfully exhausted to care about this reprimanding and shrugged. "I only dropped him once."

"Onto a pile of blankets," Avery supplied, offering his son one of his fingers to clutch. At the glare Hermione shot him, he turned to Regulus and said sternly, "Though that is one too many. You could've killed my only son! Who would pass on the family name?"

She pursed her lips and said, "You're not very good at this."

That was a lie, of course. He was extremely good at fatherhood, and the smirk he gave her told her he knew it.

Regulus adopted a solemn face and said sincerely, "I apologise profusely, Hermione. I promise to not drop and kill your son until he's passed on the family name."

Avery pointed at him. He said, "See. He's learning."

Hermione scowled and thwacked the pair of them. Pan clapped his little hands. 

Regulus craned his neck back, eyes roving the platform. His brow furrowed and he asked, “You haven’t seen my brother, have you?”

“Over by that pillar. You see?” she supplied, pointing in the direction of Sirius. Sure enough, he was stood with Dorcas and Marlene and Benjy, who must have arrived shortly before.

He followed her finger and his eyes lit up. Hermione felt her heart flutter.

“Thanks,” Regulus said, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and one on Pan’s head, before he bounded off, weaving his way back through the crowd to jump on his brother.

Avery looked at his son. "That reminds me," he said, and tapped his head with the tip of his wand. The lion suit he was wearing morphed into that of a snake, with felt scales. He brushed Pan's hair back with a smile. "That's better."

Hermione frowned.  “It’s not better.”

“Weren’t you just playing advocate for House Equality?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked at him.

“You heard that?”

Avery scoffed. “Of course I heard that.” He paused for a second, swallowing, before he added, “I also saw you with Lucius’ son. Does this mean you’ll agree to meet him now? You know, I can only give him so many excuses before he questions why he hasn’t formally met his best friend’s wife.”

Hermione rubbed her thumb across his knuckles and said delicately, “I know. I just didn’t know how I’d react… seeing Draco again.”

She pushed back the hood of the snake outfit Pan was wearing, caressing his baby-soft cheek. Avery was watching her carefully. “You still haven’t told me why that is.”

A wry smile curled her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“It’s been ten years and I haven’t pressed,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” replied Hermione. “So you can wait a bit longer.”

He didn’t seem amused by her, though she still grinned at him. A slight frown creased the space between his eyebrows when he asked, in a quiet voice, “Will you ever tell me?”

Hermione thought about it. It was only a moment of pondering, but the platform seemed to stop entirely. Then, she looked at him, and smiled, because it really wasn’t that difficult a decision at all. “One day,” she promised. “I’ll tell you all. I’ll tell you how we all survived, and what we sacrificed-”

“But not yet,” he finished for her.

She just smiled, holding Pan close against her chest. He snuggled into her. “No. It’s a darkness that I have no desire to release yet.”

Avery looked exasperated. He said, “I’m quite accustomed to darkness, Hermione. I grew up in it. I fought for it, remember?”

Hermione just stared at him, throat tight. “Not this kind of darkness.”

The train’s horn echoed around the station, and the children swarmed forward, hauling their large trunks in a bid to find an empty compartment. Hermione looked around, standing on her tiptoes to try and spot James and Lily. She did, her eyes catching on red hair, and dragged Avery through the throng of people to reach them.

Everyone was there, saying goodbye to Harry, messing his hair up (though he’d inherited his father’s hair, so it was messy enough as it was) and giving him firm hugs, full of warmth and love.

When he pulled away from his mother, he turned to look at her and smiled. Hermione passed Pan to his father and knelt down, holding her arms out and Harry ran into them. He buried his head into the curvature of her neck, squeezing her tightly. She could feel his worry and nerves, but they came second to his excitement.

“Good luck,” she said, holding him by the shoulders. Harry was smiling at her. “And remember, don’t go looking for trouble. If you’re anything like I think you are, trouble and adventure will probably find you.”

His smile widened until it was a big grin, lighting up his entire face, and he leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, before he turned around and boarded the train. He paused when he stepped on, looking back to give them one last wave and grin.

"I never thought we'd all be here to see this," James said quietly, waving back. The smile on his lips was gentle and laced with awe and pride and honour, and everything that made him James Potter.

Lily stared at the train, as the steam starting billowing from the chimney, as her son disappeared to find a compartment. She looked at them all with those green eyes, before she said, "We had to be.”

"I just don't understand how we're all alive," Sirius agreed. There was a teasing lilt, a carelessness, to his voice but his words made them all pause regardless.

"Perhaps Death was just a tad too complacent when it came to closing his door," replied Hermione knowingly.

James’ eyebrows raised slightly at the reference, and the smile that stole across his face was fond and nostalgic.

Sirius looked at her in disbelief. "Death's Door! You believe it too?"

Remus' eyes narrowed and a small sigh left his lips, but he didn't comment. Though Hermione winked at him, neither one of them decided to pick up on it.

Avery demonstrated no such decency, tuning in to the conversation to say contemptibly, “The _fable?_ ”

She ignored him, replying to Sirius instead. "Well of course. You don't stare Death in the face and come out of it the same."

"You two have," Remus said genially. "You're both still pains in my arse."

"Lovely pains," corrected Hermione.

"That you would just positively _hate_ to be rid of," added Sirius. The two of them shared a grin.

Peter looked at James, and said, “Can you believe we’re exactly the same as when we were at Hogwarts?”

James pressed a lingering kiss to Lily’s temple, and she leaned into him. “Yeah. And I’m glad for it,” he said. He was wearing a small wondrous frown. “We survived a war, guys. And we’re still happy.”

“I do miss the good old days though,” murmured Sirius wistfully. Remus looked at him.

“And the wobbly table that doesn’t stand straight because Peter bit through the leg,” James added, his smile amused.

Peter’s eyes widened. He mumbled, blushing, “I thought we said we wouldn’t tell people about that?”

The Marauders laughed, and their happiness roared.

“And the sneaking around, under the Cloak,” Remus said knowingly, and the memory made him look younger than ever.

“What about the times we crept out to sit in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch?”

“I miss the _parties_ ,” said Sirius.

“And the pranks.”

“And the sleepovers.”

“And the Full Moons,” said Remus quietly. They all looked at him. There was a sincerity to his face, and Hermione knew that he wasn’t talking about the nights themselves, but the company bestowed to him. James clapped him on the back. Sirius rested his chin momentarily on his shoulder. Peter sent him a smile. They all knew it too. 

They stood in serene quiet for a moment or two. Then, Peter said, “Just think. Harry’s going to have adventures of his own.”

“And they’ll be meaningful,” James added.

“But perhaps not as adventurous as ours,” said Sirius.

Hermione laughed, remembering everything they had gotten up to the first time around. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Remus moved to stand next to her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his woolly cardigan. He said dryly, “Poor McGonagall is going to be horrified when she comes face to face with the offspring of James Potter. It might just give her a heart attack.”

“Or drive her into early retirement,” Sirius replied. “Merlin, James. You could be the very thing to deprive the next generation of that wonder woman. How very dare you.”

James’ face morphed into one of incredulity, and he turned to respond, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, but Lily just laughed, laying her head on his shoulder and he gave up.

Sirius then said mournfully, “Still think we should’ve given him the Map.”

“My son is not getting kicked out of Hogwarts in his First Year because of you and your shenanigans!” Lily exclaimed, though she was smiling and her words were light.

Sirius spluttered, holding a hand to his chest and declaring, “Shenanigans! James! Sort your woman out! Shenanigans! How dare _you!_ ”

“She may have a point, Pads,” James replied, seemingly regaining the ability to speak. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, paused to straighten his glasses. “He can’t be kicked out before he’s made the Quidditch team!”

Lily smacked him, and he was quick to add, “And pass his N.E.W.T.S, of course.”

Peter resembled more the small boy Hermione had met in the Hogwarts corridor all those years ago, with the big grin and the big ears that didn’t quite fit on his head when he said, “I can’t believe you guys forgot to give Harry the Map! Boy, that would have been a nightmare! Don’t worry, I packed it in his carry-on for you.”

Lily looked mutely horrified, but Hermione shared a look with Sirius and they all laughed. The feeling of unbridled euphoria coursing through their veins, pouring from their lips, was the best one of all; the last ten years had been filled with it. They had made the sun their legacy in this time, because they had the courage to smile bright enough. And they realised that one day, all their triumphs and failures would cease to exist- they, themselves, would cease to exist- but the goal was not to live forever. It was to create something that would. And the better world they were standing in would not be untouched by tyranny indefinitely, but they had created a world that their children could grow up loved and safe in. And perhaps that was a greater legacy than the sun itself. 

The world had rebuilt itself following the war, surpassing its former glory, and the Ministry had been reformed, largely thanks to an unlikely hero in the form of one dashingly handsome Sirius Black.

_They stood on the dais in the centre of the Ministry, and the crowd was suffocating. The buzz was electrifying, and people chattered and tittered and looked on the scene with eyes full of awe. The crowd was a mixture of workers and civilians, crammed into the atrium to witness the crowning of the end of the war._

_Hermione didn’t like them all looking at her. Sirius noticed and held her hand._

_The Minister of Magic was stood next to them, and Bagnold smiled at the crowd, a thin smile that stretched her lips, before raising her wand to her throat to magnify her voice._

_“We are here,” she began, “to formally recognise the end of a period that was dark and gruelling; a period that took from us, and left us weak and broken, and yet here we are. The Wizarding World remains very much intact, very much strong, and very much powerful. We, the citizenry that has survived, have found ourselves with the task of carrying on, and we begin our journey of revival by honouring those who fought valiantly to make this rebirth possible.”_

_Millicent Bagnold allowed a moment of pause where the atrium burst into applause and cheers- a few magical fireworks were erupted from wands. The Minister moved over to stand by Sirius, who was at the start of the line of Order members. He smiled charmingly at her. She pursed her lips._

_Retrieving from the inside pocket of her robes a long scroll, Bagnold cleared her throat and began to read. The cameras all flashed; the insect reporters they worked for watching with eager eyes. Hermione fixed her eyes on something on the ceiling because she didn’t want to see everyone staring at her. Sirius was preening under the attention.  Everyone else seemed to be smiling politely, but only Sirius, the Twins and Marlene looked truly comfortable with the situation._

_“You are cordially invited to the Ministry of Magic to receive the Order of Merlin First Class for outstanding bravery during the war,” she recited. Her voice was bland, and her smile forced._

_Sirius raised his eyebrows in faux-surprise, looking at Remus and Hermione, then out at the audience, then back at Millicent Bagnold. He said, in a voice that was light and free, “And you, Minister, are cordially invited to go fuck yourself.”_

_The effect was instantaneous. A gasp, drenched with shock, rippled through the crowd, but Sirius wasn’t finished. He stepped forward and said, before Millicent Bagnold could intervene, “Where was the Ministry when we were out there, fighting for freedom, sacrificing our youth and our lives for a better tomorrow? Where were they when we killed Voldemort?”_

_Hermione shared a look with Remus, and though there was apprehension in both their eyes, neither one of them made a move to silence him. It was something that needed to be said, and though she had neglected to tell Sirius the truth about what had happened in the war (_ the first war _), the coldness in Millicent Bagnold’s eyes as she had condemned an innocent man to life in prison was something that could not be erased from her mind._

_Sirius was not finished. His voice was quieter now that he had the crowd’s attention, and there were a few officials that were fighting to make their way to the stage. Hermione flicked her wand and the platform was encased in a shield, preventing anyone from stopping them. Caradoc raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged innocently._

_“I’ve been fighting my entire life,” Sirius said. “I’ve fought from a child to an adult. I was fighting for my friends and my family.” At this point, he faltered and looked at his family. A small smile graced his face. “But I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m not fighting against a corrupt Ministry that doesn’t care for the freedom I have had to work for, when they haven’t worked for anything. I came from a rich, Pureblood family, and let me tell you,” he said honestly, “they’re bastards.”_

_It seemed, as strange as it was, that Sirius’ speech evoked a sense of rebellion inside the Ministry, and it was the domino that set the others falling for Millicent Bagnold stepped down the following day, and a complete shuffle was made to the Departments. An inquiry was launched into the workers, and those with any kind of affiliation to the Dark Lord, or even the smallest bit of stigma, were immediately fired and replaced._

_Despite this display of political bravado, Sirius had later accepted the Order of Merlin First Class when he’d learnt that Kingsley Shacklebolt had become the youngest Minister for Magic in the history of the Wizarding World, and he’d worn it nonstop for weeks until it needed cleaning._

The train horn bellowed around the platform for a final time, wafting out steam, and the locomotors’ wheels began turning. Harry’s face was pressed against the window, and he was grinning and waving wildly. Ron was next to him, and they both looked young and free and ready to live the life they were always supposed to live, if time had only been different.

"It's been a wild life, hasn't it?" Sirius said suddenly, and his voice seemed to cut through the noise of the station.

Hermione looked at him.

“But a good one,” she said. He smiled.

“Oh, the best.”

The train started moving away from them, and they all waved, cheering and shouting, blowing kisses and smiling. James had his arm wrapped around Lily, and she was trying to hide the fact that she was crying. They were both waving- James, so passionately his arm was a blur and his glasses got skewed on his nose. Peter was smiling, a wide smile, that dopy but loving smile, and he held Mary’s hand tightly. Remus and Sirius were leaning into one another, and Remus flopped his head down onto Sirius’ shoulder. On Sirius’ other side was his brother; Regulus sent him a smile.

Hermione got closer to Avery, and he snaked his arm around her waist. Pan was on his other side, blowing bubbles and flexing his fingers in a half-wave. She felt contentment in her bones.

Harry waved at them from the window, grin as bright as the sun.

_Where does it all begin?_

Hermione used to think it was on the 31st of July, when a little boy was brought into the world, crying and screaming. She used to think it was when a mother held her child, made of all the same blood and bones and intricate nerves, and whispered that she loved him, and that she would protect him even as the world shattered around them.

She used to think it was when a prophecy was made, and a broken man overheard it. When a betrayal was pungent and raw, and a rat saw no light on his side of the fight. When a monster murdered a young man, with messy hair and a crooked smile that matched the crookedness of his glasses, trying valiantly to keep his family alive, and a young woman, all vivid red and emerald green, threw herself away to save the only thing she had left.

Hermione used to think that everything began when Lily Potter sacrificed herself for her baby.

But now she is not so sure.

For the beginning could be when a crumbling boy, with platinum hair, who had never had a choice, made the first and last decision of his short life.

It could be when a girl, in love with the world and magic and alive only in the simplest sense of the word, first landed in the past, and was finally given the chance to live.

When a boy who was as dark as his name suggested fell from Heaven, or a stag as soundly loyal as nothing else nurtured the tormented star back to health. When a wolf howled at the moon, bounding after its friends because for the first time in fifteen years, it wasn't alone. Or when the small boy with the large ears and sallow cheeks felt like he belonged on the chair in front of the fire, enraptured by dancing flames and the laughter of his brothers.

It could be when the girl finally felt her heart beat for the first time in so long, when the withered organ shook off its spider webs and dust and pumped the will to live around her body because she had seen again that hope, that light, which she had thought was lost forever.

Or did it all begin when a serpent told a flower it loved her? When the prince of darkness cast off his shadowed crown?

When the knights fell from their fiery euphoria, and the light slowly but surely descended into the dark.

When the patriarch sacrificed the pawns for some greater good.

Hermione thought it was when everything fell away, when the hope for a better world died screaming, when there was no light to be seen, only darkness.

But now, she realised that's not quite true.

For you see, it starts

here

 

_now_

 

wherever you want it to start. At whatever point you look up and think: 'I could grow something from this. I could conquer the sky. I could start everything right here. In this moment, I could save the world...  _Yeah. I can see the light.'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  AN: So I feel like I should probably explain what happened first off, just in case a few people don't get it:
> 
>  
> 
> Death's Door was introduced very early on and mentioned very briefly but the big clue in its importance is that it had a chapter named after it (The Fable) so I tried to set it up for this ending.
> 
> Basically, the idea of Death's Door is that there is a door between the dead and the living. Those who are not quite dead get caught on the doorway, and have the choice: to go back, or to move on. This is like what Harry faced when he 'died' and is therefore what Hermione faced. It is also what people whose hearts stop beating for a short while face.
> 
> Once at Death's Door, they can choose to accept death and move on (like Hermione was tempted to do) or go back and fight to stay alive. But!! Like Sirius told Hermione all those chapters ago, time doesn't exist there. Time is a completely fabricated concept, and so I find it highly unlikely that it would exist in such a place that is neither living nor dead, real nor fake, untouched and uninfluenced by humans.
> 
> But because time exists in memories, Hermione saw her memories all spread out since Death's Door all happens in her subconscious. This is all going on in her mind. Draco (and Ron for a while) embodied her subconscious and the two conflicting desires: Ron represented her wish to move on and be with him in death because she misses him so much, whilst Draco was there to remind her of his sacrifice which she holds very dearly and convince her to go back and try again.
> 
> As you know, Hermione chooses to go back but because time doesn't exist, she can choose what part of her life she goes back to- essentially, which memory she jumps into.
> 
> She chooses the start of the war because it's a milestone where everyone is alive and happy.
> 
> As you can see from Chapter 99, not much actually changes- Lily and James still get married and have Harry, certain conversations still take place, only this time, the Horcruxes are out of the situation.
> 
> This is because Death's Door is for people, not dark magic. And because Voldemort's Horcruxes were not quite intact souls, once destroyed they could not pass through the door and back to the land of the living, meaning that they never existed in the (new) new timeline.
> 
> Consequently, everything happened as it would've if there had been no Horcruxes (the prophecy was different because Harry only had the ability to defeat Voldemort because he was a Horcrux; no one died etc.) and the new prophecy was altered to fit the new timeline.
> 
> I really don't know if that makes sense but I hope it does!! If you have any questions, please please don't hesitate in asking:)
> 
> I know a lot of people will probably think that the fact Hermione died and went back again makes all of her previous effort null and void, and that everyone else’s death was simply unnecessary pain, but it all needed to happen. The reason Lily and James had to die was because time had decreed it to happen. It needed to happen to fulfil the prophecy which in turn, would drive Hermione to ‘kill’ herself and destroy the final Horcrux. When she came back, because the Horcruxes were taken out of the equation, the prophecy (which was founded on the fact that Voldemort had Horcruxes) was changed to suit this new timeline where there is nothing standing in her way of killing Voldemort.
> 
>  
> 
> I knew this AN would be super-duper long but I really want to say everything.
> 
> You have been a dream. From the people who review every chapter, to those who send me messages, to those who don’t, all my quiet readers- this would not have been possible without you all. There were times when I felt like just giving up and abandoning this story, and times when the reception for The Light wasn’t massive, but I realised that it isn’t about the number of follows or comments this fanfiction has, it’s about the people it has touched, even if that number is small. I genuinely cannot thank any of you enough. I love you so much. I feel like you’re my cool Harry Potter family, and we’ve finished this together. Honestly, Chapter One was just me wanting to get feedback on my writing, and 380,000 words and a year and a half later, I feel so much more confident and happy. I know I’m super soppy but I really mean it- you guys are great and you should know that:)
> 
> This is not the end of me, no way! I’m going to first of all read through this fanfic and change a few things- I’m definitely adding more Wolfstar romance and Starbucks bromance, and more Marlene/Dorcas. But I’ve got some fanfictions planned already: a Tomione one, and a Dramione one:)
> 
> I hope this ending is good enough for you! After all your unwavering support, I felt obligated to give you a happy ending. So here it is: The End.


	101. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have missed you all so so much it is unbelievable! I didn’t anticipate how big of a reception this fic was going to get, nor how massive a part of my life it was going to become. I noticed a few of you had questions about what happened next: what happened to Hermione Granger in the original timeline? What happened with Avery and Hermione?   
> I wrote this as Bliss, a kind of sequel to TL but decided that I might as well upload it at the end here as well as a separate fanfiction, because it answers a lot of questions you may have had. I suppose this is a thank you for sticking by me, for committing to a fanfiction that I had no idea what was happening or where it was going the majority of the time!! You inspire me daily guys.   
> Admittedly, this focuses more on the relationship between Hermione and Avery as it develops after the war, although the other characters are in here too. When I introduced Avery, I never anticipated an original character of my own creation would receive such a warm response but I can honestly say it means the world to me!! As someone who wants to publish one day, I'm using this entire experience to learn all that I can about world-building and character-building and you have helped me so much with that. But as much as this is about their relationship, it’s also about the effects of war, the way we heal each other’s brokenness and the incendiary power of hope, and love. I feel like these things are very important at the moment.  
> So, here it is, perhaps an unconventional couple, but one that survived all the torment and tribulations I put them through in my last fic. I hope you like it.

** Epilogue **

 

**_Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you. Especially when you are near me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib where my heart is, tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go, with all that distance between us, I am afraid that this cord will be snapped, and I shall bleed inwardly. –_ Charlotte Bronte**

**November 1981**

It was really quite impossible to think of a time before Frederic Avery. Though she tried, and sometimes she tried often, the smug Slytherin always seemed to permeate through every memory he was absent from, like water devouring a piece of paper.

There was no keeping him out, though Hermione found she didn't mind it quite as much as she thought she might.

He was always there, usually silent; a statue of strength and resilience, a tree with its roots planted so deeply and firmly in the ground, no tornado could uproot it.

Of course, when this observation had been made, one could never have predicted that it would take more than a tornado. Nobody could've predicted Hermione Granger would be the one to uproot him.

He was a tall boy, with broad shoulders and a resounding chest that never seemed to fall. His face was marble, effortlessly sculptured, painstakingly carved. It nearly always wore the same expression of impatient boredom, though Hermione found the patience (or fury) to wring from him a rare droplet of a smile from time to time. His eyes were dark, his hair black, and it was as though he was allergic to warmth for it seemed to roll over him in strictly eluding waves. That being said, there was something eminently warm that lingered in those dark eyes when Hermione Granger held him, or kissed him, or even forced a laugh from his bow lips.

It took time for people to melt around him. The world could not seem to understand why they fit together so perfectly, or how they managed to love one another in full.

For she, on the other hand, was a resounding sun. Though plain in appearance, there was something blinding about her, something which made your eyes ache and forced you to squint if you stared for just a second too long. Her small body was perpetually tense and alert, and yet there was an undeniable softness to her very existence. She seemed to exhale compassion, breathe the gentle lull of consideration. Everything she did, she did passionately; she let it consume her.

Perhaps that was why they were so in-tune. She consumed him in her love, and for once, he didn't mind terribly to relinquish his control. He was never bored around her.

Whatever the reason was, it was cemented in place: Frederic Avery and Hermione Granger were in love. It was a skinny love, a love that was conveyed through lingering touches and fleeting glances that lasted just a moment longer than necessary, but it was love nonetheless.

And it was a love rattled though resilient. The war took a lot out of them, but they remained standing at the end of it. Somehow.

The world slowly rebuilt itself, and neither one of them had a place to belong anymore, so they returned to the Muggle lady’s house, quiet sewing their lips shut, grief weighing them down. They were disconsolate prisoners to the past, and the torments they had seen. Everything they did felt numb, like they weren’t really doing it. Only Regulus retained that fresh youthfulness that they had all once thrived on.

It was an evening, peaceful and free, untouched by the cruelties and demands of the world around them, and Hermione sat on the settee, curled into the corner. She had a blanket strewn over her lap, and her eyes were staring but not seeing. Everything was calm; everything but the crackling of the fire.

The grandeur of the house had long since fallen from her fancy, and she no longer regarded the alcoves or pretty cabinet displays with wide eyes. It had become the mundane to her. Hermione didn’t even think of the Muggle lady who was currently living in an idyllic seaside cottage in France. Not that often anyway. Though she didn't know why she bothered, the rich old dear was probably living the dream.

Avery appeared in the doorway of the living room. Her eyes blinked, focusing on him, and he brought her a cup of tea. She accepted it gratefully, bringing it close to warm her body up.

He sat beside her. There was space between them, stretching out, chilling them both.

Neither one of them spoke; they simply basked in the serenity that still felt foreign to their tired bodies. Regulus was out someplace. He seemed to be living to the fullest, spreading his wings and pulsing with unbridled electricity to make up for all the years he’d spent locked in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione and Avery could not share in his liberty. They left the house very rarely, often choosing to remain in their designated rooms. Headquarters was still open to her, and all the other members of the Order, though she found that it just reminded her of everything they had endured. Every time she closed her eyes, she was plagued with nightmares, haunted by things that had both happened and not. So, at the soonest opportunity, she had moved out and into this place. She slept better here. Avery, though he’d never said it in so many words, had seemed quite glad for her company. They were going through the same thing. It made sense for them to quietly go through it together.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. Her voice was soft, barely an indentation on the air.

“What is?” Avery replied in a voice just as quiet.

She paused for a moment, then said, “How things are more frigid now the war is over.”

He looked at her. “Frigid?”

“Scarier,” she amended. “More on edge.”

Avery considered this. “Perhaps it’s because you’re not used to freedom. You know how to survive a war. Life, on the other hand, is very different… it is not so easy to live.”

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that, but she sipped her tea. It was hot, scalding her lips. She ignored the burn and continued drinking.

"You know what else is strange?" Avery said.

She hummed questioningly.

"That we don't have to hide anymore and yet we can't seem to leave the shadows."

Hermione stopped drinking. She looked at him and said, "This isn't the shadows. You should know. We've both been there."

"So you're trying to tell me this is the light?" he demanded, eyebrow raised in slight disregard. "If this is what you stand for, I'd request a different title."

"No," said Hermione. "I'm trying to tell you that this isn't dark. Nowhere near. Not even close."

She reached out and held his hand, breaching the distance between them, and it was more than some thirty centimetres she crossed. Avery's eyes latched onto her. It was so much more.

He realised maybe she was The Light for a reason.

Avery dragged his eyes away, and asked, "Do you think it will ever go back to normal?"

"What?" She stared at him, a small frown knitting her eyebrows together.

Their hands were still lazily interlocked.

Avery swallowed, looking back at her, and repeated, "Do you think it'll ever go back to normal?"

A wry smile curled her lips. "I don't think you could really call it normal."

"How it was meant to be then," he explained. There was something vulnerable about the urgency in his voice.

Hermione just stared at him. "This _is_ how it's meant to be," she said softly.

And Avery gave her one of those rare smiles; the type that fluttered her stomach and made the room that much brighter.

**oOo**

**December 1981**

It wasn't always like this; that skinny love didn't always present itself in the most obvious of ways, nor the easiest.

But it was there in the nights they both woke up screaming, writhing in the darkness, tangled in the grip of their bed sheets and memories. Hermione had cast a silencing charm around her room, but that didn't stop him from knocking at her door one night. She was sat up in bed, throat torn and hurting, heart racing in her chest.

It had taken her a few seconds before she was able to call, "Come in."

Avery opened the door gently, standing in the doorway. He had bags under his eyes, dark hollows, and from the look of him, she assumed he hadn't gotten much sleep either. She didn't know how he had heard her through the silencing charm, if he had at all, but she was glad for him; she soaked the sight of him up.

Hermione held out her hand, and he walked over to her. Their fingers grasped the others, linking them, interweaving their souls. He climbed into bed beside her, and she pressed herself as close as she possibly could into his warmth. His heart beat steadily against her ear.

"How much sleep have you gotten?" he asked her.

She whispered, "Not much. You?"

Avery paused for a moment, and she felt his throat bob. "I haven't slept since the war ended," he murmured honestly, his free hand playing with her hair.

"Me neither," Hermione replied, matching the vulnerability of his voice.

"I keep seeing him fall to the floor," Avery said. There was nothing else in the air, just his words and their stolen, shared breaths. "Every time I close my eyes. And I imagine that he's not dead, that he survived it somehow. That he's coming for us."

"He's not," said Hermione immediately. She couldn't look at him, but held him tighter. His hand stopped at the base of her neck. "He's gone. For good. We're safe now. The war is over."

"That's what scares me," he whispered.

She finally looked at him, sitting up a little to take in the blank smoothness of his indecipherable face. He always looked cold, like art frozen in stone.

"What do you mean?"

Avery kept his eyes firmly on the ceiling. His eyelashes were so long they cast shadows.

"I mean, I did bad things. I did really bad things. I did some stuff that I could never tell anyone about, not even you... I did things that keep me up at night, because closing my eyes makes me relive them, and I'd rather die than have to do them all again..." He paused for a moment, trailing off. He seemed to regain his track of thoughts for he continued soon after. "But I was in a war. That was my excuse..." His voice dropped to a whisper, so frightened it was almost inaudible. "I don't have an excuse anymore. What if those things are really me? What if I do more bad things, and there's nothing to stop me? _What if that's who I am-?"_

He broke off, and the look on his face made Hermione's stomach twist. She swallowed, shaking her head slightly. Her smile was constricted.

"Of course that's not you-"

"How do you know?" He demanded, finally looking at her. His eyes were oddly bright in the darkness of the room.

Hermione stared at him. "Because this heart is who you are. This one, right here." She pressed her hand against his chest, framing his heart as though she was trying to protect it, or steal it away. "And it's a good one. It's a loving one. It's not the heart of a monster."

Avery watched her, frozen in place. Eventually, he whispered, "You can love a monster. It can even love you back. But that doesn't change its nature."

"But that's where you're wrong," Hermione whispered back. His eyes clung to her, desperation prolonging every second. The truth set him free. "It changes _everything_."

**oOo**

**January 1982**

The New Year’s Eve party was a night exploding with laughter and cherished recklessness. Life became that much tenderer once you saw the end of it, and that had never been truer than in this instance.

The Order danced and sang at the top of their voices; they grinned and let go because one day, they wouldn't have the chance to. It was a night of freedom, of stepping away from the shackles of the war and embracing the future for what it was: fresh, promised and there in front of them; ripe for the taking.

Avery, though he'd agreed to come when Hermione had asked him, stood by the window of Godric's Hollow's living room, thoroughly unimpressed. He had a drink in hand, though he'd yet to try it. His dark eyes roved over the throng of people swaying to the sound of the music (Celestina Warbeck was on- Salazar knew whose horrifying taste this was), but they kept straying back to one in particular.

Hermione was dancing in the middle of the room, with Marlene. She had her arms up in the air, and a sweet blush to her cheeks. She kept laughing, bubbles of euphoria tripping over her lips.

She glanced over, catching him looking, and beamed at him, and the gesture made her eyes light up. Avery swallowed.

“You still get nervous seeing her?” asked James, coming to stand beside him.

Avery’s jaw clenched, and he seemed to straighten up. Despite the fact that they had fought in a war together, and James made the effort at every possible opportunity, the ice between them still had yet to thaw. Sirius didn't even try. There was an entire glacier between those two.

Even so, Avery replied stiffly, “Of course. I never know if she’s going to strangle me or write me poetry.”

“She wrote you poetry?” James asked in surprise.

Avery’s face tightened. “I was speaking figuratively…”

James considered this for a moment, nodding. He asked, after a slight pause, “Was the poetry good?”

The scowl knitting his eyebrows together was his only answer, and James took this as the cue to stop pressing. A small smile curled his lips, however, for he knew that, though Avery acted like he detested them all, there was the semblance of fondness in his blank face.

"I wouldn't have put Hermione down as a poetry kind of girl," he replied lightly.

Avery inhaled deeply. He said, in that cool voice that never had so much as a crack in it, "No. For good reason too. She rhymed angelic with astrophysics."

James looked at him, surprise making his features soft and his eyes crinkled at Avery's lame attempt at a joke. It seemed the ice was melting after all.

Hermione bounced over to them, hair electrified with the spike of Firewhiskey. "Do my eyes deceive me?" she cried, though she was smiling. "Or are you two chatting amicably?"

Avery rolled his eyes. James grinned, his ears tinged pink.

"We're bonding over a shared opinion," began James.

"Yeah," agreed Avery. "We both find you painstakingly embarrassing."

Hermione scowled at the pair of them but completely ignored this statement and decided to drape herself over his back, wrapping her arms around his neck, chin propped on his shoulder. Avery pulled a face, though made no move to shrug her off. She smiled victoriously.

"You both love me though," she said, voice smug.

James' face softened into a smile. "Of course."

Hermione looked at Avery. He raised his eyebrow. “You’re alright, I guess.”

“Charming!” she exclaimed.

She began to disentangle herself from him, but he caught her arm and held her in place. Hermione's smile was tender. She pressed a kiss to his pulse.

James watched them, something twinkling in the mellowness of his hazel eyes. He said, "Yeah. I think he does."

When they both looked at him, he simply raised his glass in mock-toast, before leaving to wrap his arms around Lily. Avery looked at her, and she just smiled. He pulled her round so she was tucked against his side.

They stood by the window, watching the party, though minds whirring with something else, something much bigger.

Hermione turned to him abruptly, eyes tracing the floor. "I love you both too."

She dared to glance at his face. Avery was staring at her, eyes unbelievably soft and he pulled her closer to his side. Hermione leaned into him.

His eyes narrowed when they caught sight of Sirius, who was dancing round the house, utterly lost in the euphoria of a survivor. He was singing at the top of his voice, and casually kissing anyone who looked at him.

“I still don’t like him,” said Avery.

Hermione thwacked him.

“Stop taking pride in being an arsehole,” she said dismissively and she missed the way Avery’s eyebrows raised. “It’s boring. You’re not intimidating anyone.”

“Not even you?” He asked. She looked at him as though he’d just told her a very bad joke, and she was waiting for the punchline to end.

Hermione said, “Especially not me.”

Avery moved his lips close to her ear, his dark eyes steady and boring into her. He murmured, “Then why have you got goosebumps, darling?”

She stared at him, and Hermione wished that he wasn't right but her skin had erupted in goosebumps at his closeness. Instead of replying, she scowled and rubbed her arms.

Avery huffed a laugh.

"It's cold!" she said defensively.

"Oh, I'm sure."

She was saved from embarrassment as the countdown to New Year started; it was loud and explosive, and their slurred shouts echoed around the house. They dominated the world.

**"Three!"**

Hermione looked up at Avery. His dark eyes were cast out at the crowd.

**"Two!"**

He looked at her.

**"One!"**

His head ducked down, and he pressed a long but sweet kiss to her lips. It left her breathless. There was nothing urgent about it; it was lazy and content, like they had all the time left in the world.

When he pulled back, their faces remained close together. Every breath was shared, kissing her cheeks and existing inside the stolen space between them.

"Happy New Year," he whispered.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, pressing another chaste kiss to his swollen lips. She held his face in her hands, feeling the way his jaw clenched, and his eyes fluttered closed.

"Happy New Year," she smiled.

**oOo**

**March 1982**

Avery sat at the dining room table. His eyes were glued to the paper laid out in front of him, his face was impassive.

Hermione entered the room, rubbing her eyes, immediately flicking the kettle on to sate her tea desire. She leaned against the countertop.

“Good morning,” she smiled.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at her.

Hermione frowned. “Freddie?”

His head shot up suddenly and he said, “My father’s trial is today."

She felt herself falter, and the empty mug she had just retrieved from the cupboard nearly slipped from her grasp.

“Oh.”

His eyes lingered on the picture of his father, before he flipped the page. “And Rosier got sentenced last week. Life. Minimum 45 years if he behaves. But I doubt it. That boy couldn’t even behave in school."

Hermione averted her eyes when he glanced up at her, turning around as the kettle whistled. She made her tea, and the sound of the spoon clinking against the mug echoed deafeningly around the kitchen.

When she was finished, she turned back around and noticed Avery watching her. Hermione swallowed.

“Snape got let off easy,” he continued, never once looking away. “Dumbledore vouched for him.” His smile was tight. “Lucius wasn’t so lucky.”

She held his gaze for a few moments longer before she took a sip of her tea. Avery scoffed, his taut smile turning bitter. “Is that it?”

“What do you want me to say?” Hermione asked quietly.

 _“Something!”_ he demanded. “The only reason I’m not rotting in a cell with them is because of you!”

“Then perhaps you should be thanking me, instead of biting my head off,” she replied coolly.

Avery’s face was cold and hard. “Perhaps.”

She stared at him, jaw clenched, eyes burning. “I feel like, for whatever reason, you’re trying to retain your superiority."

His eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you still cling to the idea that you're better than everyone else!" Hermione explained heatedly.

He regarded her for a moment. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

"You know that's not true," he said in a low voice.

"Do I?" she demanded, incredulity making her sound like she'd lost her mind.

Avery sighed deeply. "Maybe I miss the society," he began. "Maybe I miss my mother and father, and all my friends, and everyone who was a part of my life before they got sent to Azkaban to have their soul sucked out. Before-!"

His words increased in volume and vigour, before he cut off. Hermione felt the unspoken word linger in the air between them.

_-before you._

"It's not my fault they picked the wrong side," she said, folding her arms across her chest, watching him carefully.

"No," Avery agreed. He was seething, in that reserved terrifying way he got when the anger poisoned him. "But it is your fault they're behind bars."

“Then maybe you should’ve let Voldemort kill me!” Hermione said loudly, anger finally getting the better of her.

Avery’s eyes flashed. “Maybe I should’ve!”

She felt the cold seep through her, and the breath lodged in her throat. She stepped back as though he’d struck her.

Avery’s face dropped, and his lips moved to grapple for the words, trying desperately to take them back because no part of him meant them. They were throwaway fragments of his frustration, shards that had bubbled up and pierced her skin before he had time to stop them. The regret pounded through his body, infected the lines of his face.

“Hermione,” he began, clambering to his feet, moving towards her. He reached out, but she ripped her hand away.

“I-” she started, then swallowed. She didn’t look at him. “I forgot. I was meant to be meeting Sirius.”

Avery’s head dropped to the side, and her name cracked on his tongue, “ _Hermione_ -”

She apparated before he could get to her, leaving him standing in the room, alone. The cup of tea she had been holding shattered on the floor, spilling into a puddle. His eyes closed. A ragged sigh slipped from his lips. Everything felt heavy.

It was difficult, trying to survive as though you were part of the winning side. How was he supposed to explain to her that Lucius had been there for him in a time when everyone else acted like he was invisible? How was he meant to tell her about the time his father had taught him to read, and they'd both spent the entire day laughing because he couldn't, for the life of him, pronounce Herbology right? How was he supposed to explain that the people she was sending down were his friends, his family? That, apart from them, he had no one else left in this world.

Avery screwed his eyes shut. It was hard because the winners wrote the history books, and he wasn't part of that winning side. All he'd done for redemption was love a girl so much he'd betray everything for her.

And she couldn't so much as find a flying fuck to give that it was her fault he'd been uprooted and wrenched away from everything he'd once known.

The same hands that had killed so many people had tucked him in at night for ten years. The same blue eyes that had watched Muggles get tortured had regarded him with mirth and companionship. Now, they were rotting in Azkaban, with only their memories of his rancid betrayal to keep them going.

And he was out here, free to walk down the street but shackled to the torment of knowing that he'd condemned them to their fate. He was alone, wallowing in guilt. He was _drowning_ in it.

Avery lashed out, exploding abruptly, kicking the dining table. It made his toes numb and throb painfully but he didn't care. The end of the war was supposed to be the end of suffering. As it turned out, suffering never really ended. Life was just as bad.

When Hermione didn't come back that night, he stayed up until the early hours of the next morning, waiting for her, and all he got was a letter informing him of his mother's descent into illness.

Avery thought life might just be worse.

**oOo**

Hermione apparated into the kitchen four days later.

She felt tired, like her bones were dragging her down, and there was a tightness in her throat. She swallowed to try and dislodge it but it wouldn’t budge; her anxiety was suffocating.

The house was quiet, though that may just have been because everything felt magnified. Her footsteps broke the silence, her breathing sounded laboured. Avery was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, Hermione collapsed in one of the chairs, closing her eyes, holding her face in her hands. Her entire body ached. She’d been staying with Remus and Sirius for the past few nights, and though she hadn’t told them what had happened (Sirius would’ve killed Avery), they seemed to have known that it was something to do with the Slytherin regardless.

He hadn’t even tried getting in touch with her, and though she’d come close multiple times, when the other side of the bed felt cold and empty, she’d refrained from writing to him, or coming back home. His words still stung, and their blackness had settled deep within her like a toxin.

Hermione breathed in deeply to try and settle her jangled head. She opened her eyes, and stared. It was only when she blinked that she saw what was in the centre of the table.

They were purple in colour, dainty and small, looking as ethereal and delicate as the magic that had created them. Cyclamens.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wondered whether Avery remembered, even slightly, that those had been the flowers he'd procured to guard Regulus' grave.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione spun round.

He stood in the doorway, looking as tired as she felt. His eyes had dark circles framing them, his face was drawn and pale. Avery was little more than a ghost, fraying on the edges of existing.

The tightness in her throat just got tighter. She didn’t say anything.

She watched as he moved closer to her, carefully, slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare her away again, or maybe he just didn’t have the energy.

"I didn't mean it," Avery said.

"I know," Hermione replied. Though his face was expressionless, she saw the way it dropped. "You're just frustrated. You don't understand why you got to live when all your friends didn't. And now you're lost, battling for happiness in a world where you don't belong. I wonder where I've heard that before."

Avery stared at her. He felt his heart like it was heavy in his chest, and he just wanted to hold her. He recognised the pain in her voice and the forced blankness of her face (though he saw her fury was bubbling underneath- she never had an empty face).

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

Hermione looked at him. Her shoulders dropped a little. "I'm sorry too."

"What for?" he asked. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"For making you feel alone. And unworthy." She swallowed thickly, and it held the tears at bay. "For not appreciating the fact that you and I were two very different people before this war. For forgetting that you had a life outside of your role in mine. That was very selfish of me."

"Hermione Granger? Selfish?" Avery replied, his words were light, even if his voice wasn't. "Impossible."

She couldn't help but smile slightly at him.

Her smile faded and they just stared at one another. Every inch of her wanted to go to him, to feel his heart beat steadily in his chest because he was, and always had been, her equilibrium; the only thing that kept her steady.

Hermione stood up, never once taking her eyes off of him. Avery watched her, something flickering in his face; an unsureness as to whether she would hit him or kiss him. He didn’t really mind which. He deserved to be hit- his words had been cruel and toxic and he shouldn’t have said them. He just wanted her next to him. If it meant he could feel her, he would gladly be punched a thousand times, till his skull cracked open and all that could be felt was her forgiveness and the tangible whisper of her soul.

She stopped in front of him. They were millimetres away, and he could feel every one of her breaths. He heard the way they hitched, and saw the pulse in her jaw that meant she was angry and trying to hide it. He knew her too well not to notice the slight furrow of her eyebrows, and the almost eerie stillness of her chest, and he knew she was hurting because he was hurting too.

And that was why he was so surprised when Hermione stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her face into his chest. Avery reached up quickly to hug her back, to hold her, to commit the feel of her love to memory.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he murmured, and his plea caught in her hair. She knew what he really meant.

_I missed you._

“I won’t,” she promised. He knew what she meant.

_I missed you too._

**oOo**

**April 1982**

Avery’s mother was a woman with bright blue eyes, as clear as the sky, and laughter lines that far opposed the strictness of her son’s face. Despite this, Hermione could see the resemblance; see the tightness and rigidity of someone who had lived in the shadows of the spotlight; who had once walked footpaths with the Devil himself.

The first time they visited her, Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat and Avery had held her closer because the Manor was a place of nightmares now. Though it was a war ground, it was still his mother’s house, and it was the place she wanted to die, which was what led to them standing outside her bedroom door on a Monday morning that was as cold and clinical a spring as Avery was. She felt the chill from him.

“Relax,” murmured Hermione.

She noticed the extremity of his stiffness only when he tried to loosen up.

“I’m fine,” replied Avery.

She looked at him. He stared at the door. “You’re trembling.”

She hadn’t realised but the hand in hers was shaking, ever so slightly, and he untangled their fingers and clenched his fist till his knuckles turned white to try and stop it.

Hermione watched him for a moment longer, before he slipped back into composure and, though she shouldn't be by now, the ease with which he did so surprised her. She reached out to open the door, but he caught her wrist.

“I just- want to warn you,” Avery said. “She’s not very well. And she- she’s what you’d expect a fascist Pureblood wife to be like-”

Hermione interrupted him. “She’s your mother. She can’t be all that bad if she managed to raise someone like you.”

He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers, before he moved his hand to where her fingers were still holding the handle and opened the door.

“Frederic.”

His mother’s voice was soft and awed when they entered, eyes catching on her son and lingering there, like she couldn’t quite believe he was standing in front of her, tangible meteor of bounding heart and rushing blood.

Avery’s smile was small and weak. “Hello mother.”

He moved to sit in the chair by her bed, taking her hand when she held it out. She pulled him into a tight embrace, and Hermione saw the way he clutched his mother like she was his lifeline.

His mother opened her eyes, and her smile softened when she saw Hermione standing in the doorway. She patted Avery’s shoulder and he leaned back.

“You must be Hermione,” she said.

Hermione swallowed, stepping closer and offering her hand. “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

But Mrs Avery brushed her hand away, pulling her close. Her arms were warm and strong for such an ill woman, and Hermione momentarily felt the rush of remembrance. She had not been held by a mother for a long time.

When they separated, Mrs Avery turned to her son and said, “Will you read to me?”

Avery stared at her. “Of course. What would you prefer?”

“Surprise me,” she smiled.

His reluctance was only evident by the way he did not move straight away, and his eyes flicked back at them before he disappeared from the room. They were left alone together.

“He’s fond of you, you know,” his mother said suddenly, breaking the silence. Hermione only stared at her, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. “I haven’t seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

She didn’t reply, though his mother was not concerned because she continued softly, almost wistfully, staring at the slit in the curtains, where the light sifted in from the sky, “Like a blind man seeing the sun.”

Hermione’s smile was watery and breathless, and she reached over and held his mother’s cold hand in hers. “It’s a privilege to love him, isn’t it?” she said.

His mother squeezed her hand and she looked at her, _into_ her. “And it’s a privilege to be loved by him.” Hermione looked at her. His mother said, “It’s a warmth. That starts here.” She lifted a bony finger and held it at Hermione’s chest. “And spreads outward until you feel like you might be consumed, and you feel safe. Like you could live a life and die fulfilled at the end of it.”

Avery walked in on them then, holding a collection of books in his hand. He paused when he saw how close they were. His mother didn’t miss a beat.

“Ah, Bronte? How did you know?”

The visits usually went like this: they would turn up; his mother would hug them; Avery often read to her or they sat in content quiet, savouring the serenity.

“I’m grateful you came,” his mother told him one day, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Avery paused, eyes lingering on the words on the page before they flitted to look at her face. He didn’t say anything, just swallowed and continued reading.

He spoke quietly, if at all, to her, often resolving to sitting at her bedside and taking her hand when she reached for him. Hermione found their eyes often met when this happened, and Avery would out-stare her, forcing her to look away.

It was as though, even when his mother was on her deathbed, this blatant display of human emotion was too much, like he had to silently warn her not to tell anyone his capacity stretched to grief.

His mother was many things, though a fascist she was not, though perhaps that was simply because malady had wrung her of her supremacy and left her little more than a breathing corpse, who could only smile, sleep and listen to the books her son read to her. Hermione found she was a rather cultured woman, who bore the sparkle of wisdom in her impossibly bright eyes and spoke with an air that suggested she knew something you didn't and was uncontainable with her thrill at the fact. Nevertheless, she quite liked Avery's mother and that was only partially attributable to the stories from his childhood she shared with her, much to her son's chagrin. Neither one of them spoke of their conversation, though Hermione realised that they both looked at Avery the same; like he was a star they were both wishing on.

It was one day, when the sun was sinking beneath the edge of the garden wall, and Hermione was curled up on a little armchair by the window, sleeping because they had been there for hours, that his mother turned to him.

She put her hand on the book, lowering it, and Avery stopped speaking, and looked at her. His mother tapped her lips, motioning to where Hermione slept, and when Avery’s eyes snagged on the chair by the window, she reached up and held his cheek so he would focus on her.

“I thought I’d only ever see you on the front of the papers,” his mother whispered. Her eyes traced over every line of his face, every individual eyelash and shadow, as though she would never get to see him again. “I thought I’d have to watch you grow up in ink.”

Avery’s throat tightened, and he simply stared at her. There was a guarded vulnerability to him, to the stillness of his chest.

"We forced a lot on you," she said, her face taut and pursed. Her eyes were wet with tears. She was nodding slightly. "A lot of bad. But you found your own little bit of goodness. Don't let anyone take that away from you."

He looked away because he hadn’t cried since he was ten years old and his falcon flew straight into the manor wall and snapped its neck, but his eyes stung now. His mother, the woman who had loved him and stroked down his hair and kissed him goodnight every time he fell asleep, was dying, and there was nothing, no magic or prayer, that could bring her back. There was nothing he could do to save her. He had never felt so powerless.

His mother brushed his hair back, smoothing the crease of his frown, and Avery forced himself to look at her. She was still crying, silently, because for her entire life, she’d had to be silent and it seemed she would not break the delicacy, not even in death. He wrapped his arms around her, grasping her tightly, holding on.

His mother patted his back, smoothing circles by his shoulder blades, drawing wings, and Avery climbed onto the bed beside her, curling up like he used to when his father was out and he'd had a bad nightmare, when the blackness had groped from every corner, clawing at him. She had always held him close and shielded him. She had always fought away the monsters after him.

He hoped, as he curled up by her side, clutching her to him as the warmth drained from her, that she had fought away the monster within him. It had to be enough now because soon there would be nothing.

**oOo**

**May 1982**

His mother died and there were only three people at her funeral, standing together in the drizzle, because everyone else was either incarcerated or dead. Hermione held his hand tightly, monitoring him because Avery had a tendency to shut down on the world, and when she’d promised not to leave him, she’d meant it. She wouldn’t go where he could not follow. She’d done it once before, and his screams still haunted her-

_“Come back… Come back-!”_

Hermione blinked and the past fell away. That promise was mutual- he could not shut down on her, he couldn't leave her. Not now. She squeezed his hand, feeling relief when he squeezed hers back.

Regulus stood on Avery’s other side, and he lifted his wand. Small, red roses began to grow, dancing along the grave; colour in the dying winter’s black and grey.

They all stood silently, staring at the flowers.

“Thank you both for coming,” Avery said.

Hermione held his hand tighter, standing as close to him as she could, so he could feel the warmth of her body, pulsing next to him, reminding him there was still warmth in the world even though everything was cold and frozen at the moment. Regulus rested his head on Avery’s arm.

Neither one of them had known his mother fully, but they knew the son her love had helped forge, and for that, they were graciously and eternally indebted to her, because they loved him too.

**oOo**

**October 1982**

The morning sunlight sifted through the curtains, and Hermione groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes in an attempt to steal a few more seconds of sleep. It was early. She could tell because every bone in her body felt heavy still, and the world was jilted because she had been wrenched from her dream too soon.

The other side of the bed was cold, and her hand stretched out, reaching for him but Avery wasn’t lying beside her. Hermione sat up.

He was sitting on the side of the bed and the light danced on his bare back. She moved to kneel behind him, resting her head against his shoulder. He was cool, and her lips were searing as they pressed a kiss to his skin.

She nuzzled into his throat. “Having trouble sleeping?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “You?”

She didn't answer.

“You know what day it is?” she whispered.

Avery exhaled deeply. “Yes.”

“It’s been a year,” said Hermione. She kissed his neck again, gently.

“Already?” he murmured, running a hand down his face. He sounded tired.

“I know.”

It seemed that in all their whirlwind freedom, they had let time slip through their fingers.

The war had finished a year ago today.

They sat in silence for a few moments more. Her chin was propped up on his shoulder. She muttered, “I want to honour them.”

Avery didn’t ask who. They didn’t wait around for much longer. There was a restlessness to them, a sense of unease, like they knew they weren’t supposed to be here, like they were aware of their stolen time. As soon as they’d eaten, Hermione had offered him her hand and, without hesitation, Avery had taken it. She apparated them straight away.

She hadn’t seen the hill in so long, and the sky seemed to smile down on them. It was bright and fresh for October, and Hermione inhaled the thrum of life, gulping it down. The wind was sweet, picking up and twirling through her hair, playing dot to dot with the ghostlike freckles on her cheeks.

Avery looked around. There was a slight frown on his face. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

Hermione smiled slightly. She held out her hand, interlocking their fingers when he came to stand by her side.

She stared down at the little patch of dirt by her feet. It was unbroken. Unearthed. No grave was marked out for a lost boy on a trip to a star, second on the right and straight on till morning. Even so, Hermione dropped to her knees, taking out her wand and conjured eight yellow roses, which twined around one another, reaching for the sun.

She stared at them. They symbolised so much more than flowers fighting for the light. They symbolised the life of eight people who had died in another time, who had sacrificed everything they held dear, all their hope and dreams and love, for a better world. The same better world they thrived in now. Though it had happened in a time that ceased to exist, the agony ripped through her again. Her throat ached from the memory of screaming until it was raw and she couldn’t speak. Grief consumed her.

“It’s raining,” Avery said, eyes tracing the clouds, blinking as raindrops snagged in his eyelashes.

Hermione shook her head, wiping at her face. “That’s the sky crying for us.”

“Is it sad?” he asked.

She smiled. “No. Hopeful.”

When she climbed to her feet, brushing the dirt from her knees, she noticed Avery was watching her. Hermione couldn’t help but stare at him.

He was so painfully beautiful, yet she knew his soul had been sculptured from pain and fear. His dark eyes bored into her, deep and resonating and she felt her breath trickle from her lips. To the bystander, Avery was just another statue in God's labyrinth of creation but to her... Well, he was everything. He was the vine that pirouetted round flowers and the incendiary collision of waves against the rocks; he was all of life's heartache and power melded into a living being. He was everything that made the world turn.

“Close your eyes,” she said suddenly.

Avery frowned at her. “What?”

She sighed impatiently, repeating, “Just close your eyes.”

He stared at her for just a few more seconds before he raised his eyebrows, exhaling deeply, and closed his eyes. Hermione swallowed, stepping closer to him, taking his hand.

“Keep them shut,” she whispered, when his face creased.

“Hermione, what-?”

“I want to say all the things I’ve been afraid to say,” she began quietly, “ever since I met you.”

She saw his throat bob, though he kept his lips sealed. She took this as the sign to continue.

“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were dark,” said Hermione after a breath. “But you stared at me, with this… this curiosity, like you saw right through me. You never treated me like a child, or a victim. You treated me like someone who you knew could kick your arse-”

“That’s because you _could_ kick my arse,” Avery murmured.

“Can,” she corrected. “I _can_ kick your arse.”

He smirked but before he could say anything more, Hermione continued, “Everyone acted like I was going to break. Like I was a vase with cracks in that would shatter at any minute. You didn’t. You just- you just saw me for me. And I can’t thank you enough for that. I respected that. Grudgingly, I'll admit, I respected you. And then, you kept pushing. You were always there. Always interrupting, always getting in my way. It irked me to no end. You’re incredibly vexing, I hope you know that.”

“I try my best.”

“Try your best to shut up then,” she replied, holding his lips. He smiled regardless.

“And then you sent me that dress. That _damned_ _dress_! And I- I knew it was you. I knew you were the vessel and I just- I just couldn’t. I lied to Dumbledore for you. We hardly knew each other and yet I knew you enough to know that you were worth saving… I wanted to save you.”

Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper, and her hands on his face turned soft and featherlike. “Then it all changed… You bled out in my lap… And I couldn’t do anything but hold you. You said I should’ve let you fall then, because you were a monster. Do you remember?”

By the strain of his face, Hermione guessed he did.

“I forgave you then- of course I did. I forgave you for everything, even though you didn’t forgive yourself… and you asked me to stay. Like I would ever leave.”

The silence kissed them, languidly, softly.

Avery swallowed, then muttered, “Are you finished? You’re making me blush.”

Though he was teasing, the pink tinge of his otherwise pale cheeks gave him away. Hermione grinned and replied lightly, “Not yet. Though I can save you the embarrassment. Do you want me to leave?”

Something trickled across his perfect, expressionless face. He turned his head, and his lips brushed her palm, heating her veins. His eyes were still closed.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

**oOo**

**April 1983**

They stared at the Manor, squinting up at the turrets piercing the sky, and the glare of the windows. It was undoubtedly a beautiful house; red brick which simmered in the sun, and white trim. There was something odd about its face, however, something dark behind the heavy drapes. Even if it hadn’t witnessed the destruction of evil, Hermione would have shivered at the sight of it.

Nonetheless, Hermione had to ask, "Are you sure?"

He was staring at the house with empty eyes, and she knew him deeply enough to recognise his silence as one of grief. They had not stepped foot on the grounds since a year ago.

She swallowed, continuing gently, "This is your home after all-"

"It's not my home," Avery interrupted. "It's the building I grew up in. You're my home."

She looked at him, rendered momentarily speechless. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Let’s destroy it then,” said Hermione, eyes sparkling. “This could be a good outlet for you to get rid of all those passive-aggressive spoilt childhood issues.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, then looked back at the house.

“I don’t have passive aggressive issues,” Avery told her.

“Childhood issues,” she corrected. " _Spoilt_ childhood issues, in fact."

This didn’t sit any better with him and his eyes narrowed slightly. She could only grin.

It had been his decision to demolish the Manor. They had been entwined, lying together in the darkness. His fingers had stroked her spine, his breath tickling the curls of her hair when he whispered, “Why don’t we move out?”

Hermione laughed, but she decided to indulge him, turning over to face him. “Where would we go?”

“The Manor.”

The smile on her face faded, and she swallowed tightly. Avery was still drawing patterns on her back, and he noticed the change in her demeanour for he said, “We could knock it down. Create our own place, our own somewhere, with a pond and a library the size of London. We could make it ours.”

Hermione traced the curves of his lips with her thumb. “What’s wrong with here?”

As if on cue, there was a noise from downstairs as something shattered and a consequent, mumbled, “Shit.”

She dropped her head against Avery’s chest, muffling her amusement at their housemate. “Ah. _Regulus_. Point taken.”

“Besides,” he continued, and he tipped her head back, brushing her hair away so he could look at her face. “I want our own somewhere.”

Their own somewhere, as it turned out, was to be built from rubble and ashes, from the ground up. It was their own little Phoenix, constructed from magic, with life breathed into its white, ivy kissed walls and a humble grandeur which sat somewhere between his extravagance and her own simplicity.

The library, as promised, was grand and impressive, and the bookcases wore the ceiling as a crown. Avery had taken it upon himself to make, crafting it with the pulse of his hands and the stick he brandished, and he waited until her birthday, when he'd covered her eyes (impatiently shushing her protests), and led her into the room with decided delicacy.

When he moved his hands away, he whispered, "Welcome home."

Hermione's first reaction had been one of quiet awe; when her breath had skilfully evaded her parted lips. Her eyes kissed every inch of the place, taking in every book, faltering at every shelf. It was only as she'd walked down the centre aisle, fingers brushing the spines of ancient tombs, caressing peeling gold lettering and well-worn pages, that her breath returned to her.

She came suddenly to a stop.

There, already propped up in an alcove set deep into a large window, was the purple felt and golden twinkle of Peter Pan.

"Do you like it?" asked Avery.

Hermione looked at him. For some reason, though she couldn't exactly pinpoint why, she was crying.

"It's magical," she whispered because she could not manage anything louder.

And it was.

Every golden picture frame was matched by a rustic antique: a broken clock Hermione had charmed to work exactly like the Weasley's; the leather armchair Avery had stolen, much to Regulus' chagrin, from their old place of residence; a globe with all the Wizarding towns in the world on it. Hermione liked this the most; she liked to walk her fingers over the mountains of Europe and wonder how strange it was that dragons soared at their peaks.

“It’s our own little somewhere,” Avery replied. “It’s home.”

Hermione shook her head, smiling at him. “ _You’re_ home,” she said.

**oOo**

**December 1983**

She woke up, and for some reason, one she could not fathom, there was a childlike excitement thrumming in her veins. Hermione had long since exhausted the idea of Christmas, and yet she woke up early, before the sun had touched the snow-snug ground. She rolled over so her nose was touching Avery’s, and he frowned slightly in his sleep.

“Freddie,” she whispered.

He groaned, shifting.

“Freddie-”

“What?”

“Are you awake?” she asked.

Avery’s eyes cracked open and he glared groggily at her.

“You just woke me up. What do you think?"

Hermione pressed her lips against his, and when she pulled back, she said, grinning, "Merry Christmas!"

Fairy lights hung from the alcoves of the living room, twisting round lamps and dangling down from the ceiling. They cradled the room in a soft glow, kissing the leather chairs, coaxing the fire, which crackled and leapt in the hearth, before joining to dance around the tree in the corner.

They'd made a day of decorating that tree; charming bells to tinkle and trains to whistle as they chugged past the needles, whizzing through the air.

Hermione remembered the way the toy soldiers had followed her around, marching in a line at her heel, and attacking Avery every time he got too close. He had fixed them with a nasty glare, grumbling about something or other, as she’d laughed at him.

She dragged him down the stairs, hand clutching his tightly, hair billowing out behind her. It was matted and knotted. She could barely pause to brush it.

They sat on the living room floor in front of the fire, which crackled merrily and contentedly, bathing them in a warm, soft glow. Cups of tea grew cold by their feet, as they stared at one another. Then, they eyed the presents sitting in front of them and similar smirks curled their lips.

“How shocking,” remarked Avery, regarding the red present, wrapped in golden thread, with his name on.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the green box before her, encased in silver ribbon. “Indeed.”

“It appears we haven’t really changed at all.”

Though he said it plainly, their eyes met and they both knew that they had changed more than they could ever dare to voice.

“You go first,” said Avery, casting his dark eyes on the present in question wearily. “I fear the consequences should we leave it any longer.”

Hermione’s perturbed glance delayed them for only a second.

With hesitant hands, she slid the box closer to her, pausing once more when she heard something hiss inside.

“Oh dear God, Avery, what have you done?” she whispered, and his deep chuckle surprised her immensely. It did nothing to quash her worry. In fact, it probably doubled it.

Chewing her bottom lip, Hermione slipped the silver ribbon off and lifted the lid. Her mouth dropped open.

The creature craned its head back to observe her, and she felt a giddy laugh bubble from her lips as it flapped its wings and chirped vivaciously. It looked like some sort of mystical hybrid between a snake and a bird, and the feathers seemed deceptively like scales, glinting in the twinkling fairy lights. Its body was both blue and green, and the colours twirled around one another, merging with the yellow tint of the firelight and the purple plumage of its feathery tail.

“Are these legal?” she breathed, reaching into the box to drag her knuckle down the blue plumes of the Occamy. It preened under her touch, feathers fluttering.

Avery shrugged. “Most likely not.”

Hermione shot him a glare.

“When have I ever let the intricacies of the law stop me from giving you what you deserve?” he asked without concern. She found she couldn’t look away from him.

“And what’s that?”

“Everything,” said Avery simply.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot, and she ducked her head to refocus on the beast, which had curled around her hand, nuzzling into the quickening pulse of her wrist. For its serpentine appearance, she was surprised to find it smooth and soft, like caressing the tufts of a dandelion. Despite the Occamy’s fragility, she was acutely aware of its danger, never more so than when it nipped her palm with its razor sharp beak, causing her to cry out and extract her hand quickly.

She sucked on the cut, hoping to stop the bleeding.

It was odd- she had almost forgotten the sight of blood. It had been so long.

“It reminded me of you,” said Avery, and his eyes had not left her face. Hermione frowned at him, unsure whether to be flattered or defensive. “Beautiful but deadly. An innocent flower, and the snake beneath it-”

“Is that what you decided on?” she questioned instead. “That I’m not one nor the other, but both?”

He let out a short, derisive laugh. “Believe me, Granger, I know how it sounds… But I find that when it comes to you, you’re a walking contradiction. Being with you is like seeing the sun in the middle of the night, and wondering whether I should wear sunglasses.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at his dry tone, and she reached back into the box to scratch the Occamy’s neck. It leaned into her, like a cat might, and she felt a rush of tender remembrance for Crookshanks. Vaguely, she wondered what happened to her ginger companion.

“Does he have a name?” she asked.

Avery shook his head. “I thought you’d like to do the honours.”

She considered the creature for a moment or two, then said, “What about Box?”

The curl of his lip, and slight raise of his eyebrow, suggested his answer was not one she wanted to hear. But ultimately, it was her pet, and her decision so he kept quiet.

What Hermione didn’t tell him was that the green ribbon reminded her of another box, gifted to her long ago. That box, on the contrary, had not held a magical creature but a dress, the golden colour of the firelight flickering across Avery’s skin.

It also contained a note.

‘I don’t want to fall either.’

And despite the darkness she had witnessed, he was a beacon of light and she knew he hadn’t fallen. He was never even close. Every time he felt his feet slip, he was just flying amongst the stars.

“Thank you,” said Hermione sincerely.

All at once, Avery appeared embarrassed, and he averted her gaze and shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

He reached for his present, and she was suddenly overcome with bashfulness though she didn’t know why. Hermione watched him under her lashes, absently stroking Box, and she felt her heart stop when he lifted the lid and froze.

Avery picked the book up, and laid it across his knees. The front page gave nothing away (black, leather-bound- it was simple, she thought he’d prefer it), but he seemed to know what it was anyway, for he stole a breath as he opened it.

There were pictures, both magical and Muggle, tacked to the parchment: there was a photograph of him as a baby, chasing a little conjured dragon around a grand front room; and another of who she now knew were his parents, standing formally in front of the very house she and Avery had knocked down and now sat in the phoenix of. If you let your eyes linger, the stiffness of the posture melted and their austere countenance gave way to laughter and tender smiles after the initial flash. Hermione saw Avery pause at this, thumb brushing the faces of his childhood.

Beside this photograph was a note, signed off by his mother, addressed to a young and troublesome Frederic, telling him his father didn’t mean what he said, and of course he still loved him. Hermione wondered what had happened for this note to exist, and by the way the corners of Avery’s lips dipped in a frown, she suspected it was something that haunted him still.

There were old birthday cards and letters from Lucius Malfoy that seemed to be written in some gobbledegook language Hermione couldn't fathom (though she tried)- perhaps some code they had concocted to avoid getting intercepted by meddling parents.

The next few pages were dedicated to his Hogwarts years. She had been surprised to see that he had kept his Hogwarts letter, however hidden it had been in a charmed drawer of his desk. His Slytherin tie had also been kept and cherished, though it was fraying at the ends when she’d pinned it to the thick parchment.

Hermione had done the scrapbook without magic. It felt like it meant more, that way.

There were moving photos of Avery and Malfoy, laughing on broomsticks, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him that untouched by trouble.

He looked genuinely happy. This was paralleled with an older photograph, curling at the edges from where she’d tried to glue it down, of two chubby toddlers sitting together, playing with levitating toys; the blond of one offset the dark hair of the other.

And then, the photographs became more recent. There were Muggle ones of him and Hermione, more often than not fighting. There was one, Regulus must've taken it, where they were draped across the settee back in the Muggle lady's house, legs tangled together, sleeping soundly. He was in a few of them himself, always smiling like the sun was there to keep him company, throwing his arm around Avery or riding his back, or laughing together.

Avery turned the page, and his fingers stopped before stretching out to feel the creases of the purple cyclamen pressed and glued to the paper, witness to the incendiary turmoil they had been through together.

Another page held a satin bag, filled with the confetti from New Year's, serving as a multi-coloured reminder that they made it. They'd stayed alive long enough to watch the turn of a year they thought they would never get to see.

And then, a picture of his mother, lying on her death bed but beaming toothily at the camera, looking more alive than Avery had seen her look in years. The picture moved and she looked off to the side, laughing. It was beside a single rose.

"I searched your old room before you destroyed it," she said quietly. For some reason, the words left her mouth quickly and nervously, a ramble of an explanation. She watched his face, as his thumb traced over the photographs. "I know you're not exactly a sentimentalist and really, you border on being a sociopath, but I figure you must have some happy memories. I just salvaged what I could and made this. I thought you'd like it... I hope you like it-"

"I love you," said Avery.

He was staring at her. Hermione trailed off mid-sentence, mouth still gaping. 

"What?"

"I love you," he repeated. 

She swallowed thickly. 

"I love you too," she replied. She shook her head slightly to clear it, and added, "I'm sorry. Does this mean you like it-?"

Avery's face split into a grin and he laughed. "Yes. Yes, I like it. Thank you."

Hermione still stared at him. "You're welcome."

His grin was not something that she saw often, but the way it stretched his lips, lighting his eyes and breaking through the stony exterior he usually wore was like the sun stealing through a crack in a storm.

She found it difficult not to stare. His happiness was blinding.

Avery leaned forward to cup the back of her head and kiss her. His lips were soft, and she could feel his gratitude, his love, pour from his body. There were no fireworks this time, but sparklers behind her eyelids, spelling out things she had pondered on but never dared to voice. She loved him. Hermione Granger loved Frederic Avery.

The moment was rudely interrupted by something that ricocheted its way down their chimney, skirting the flames of the fire with decided caution and whizzing through the air to whack Avery in the face. He recoiled backwards, grabbing the object in offence.

Hermione frowned. It looked to be a card.

“What is this?” he asked in disgust, holding the piece of parchment up to view it more clearly.

The card was framed with artfully decorated holly and mistletoe, but the real centre of focus was the photograph in the middle, depicting a scantily dressed Sirius Black, sporting a rather questionable Father Christmas costume. They both could only gape as the photo-Sirius did a little twirl to face them, reaching up seductively to pull the ribbon belt of the garment, which fell open-

“No!” announced Avery abruptly, throwing the card away. His eyes were wide, features contorted in horror.

Hermione took one look at his face and burst out laughing; she laughed so hard she was forced to clutch her stomach. Avery merely scowled at her.

When she finally managed to stifle her amusement, she said, “I wanted to see how it ended!”

“I will forever have that image burnt onto my retinas,” he said calmly. “What the actual fuck is wrong with your friends?”

Hermione threw her arms around him, still laughing slightly, and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Avery wiped it off, though did not push her away.

“You should be proud,” she told him teasingly. “It looks like he finally deemed you worthy of the Christmas card list.”

“Lucky me.”

**oOo**

**March 1984**

"You're going to work yourself to death," she said, stepping into his office.

Avery only spared a moment to glance at her, over the top of glasses he had adamantly announced he didn't need, before his eyes dropped back to his work and his quill resumed its furious scratching.

"You need to stop every once in a while, you know," sighed Hermione. She dropped her bag onto the empty chair in front of his desk.

She honestly couldn't remember how many times those words had left her mouth, nor could she recollect how many times Avery had ignored her.

They had both worked, and worked hard, to get where they were in the Ministry. Avery had decided fairly early on that The Department of Mysteries appealed most, and Hermione had almost laughed at the irony. Of course, he loved mysteries. He loved her, after all.

And yet, though the Ministry had been more than eager to give Hermione the position she desired (as part of the Wizengamot), Avery had had to work harder than anyone in order to prove himself. It seemed his surname remained the shackles of his existence, and she'd seen firsthand the weary expressions the people around him wore, as if he was liable to snap and murder twenty of them in no time at all.

Sirius had barked in laughter at her choice of job, demanding incredulously, "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"I want to make the world a better place," she'd sniffed.

Hermione had not had the heart nor courage to tell him the real reason.

 _'I can't let anyone else go without a fair trial. Not after what happened to you._ '

Avery's profession, on the other hand, had wrung some rather surprising and grudgingly given respect from the elder Black, though she doubted he cared either way what Sirius thought of him.

In a late conversation, where Sirius kept her company over three cold cups of tea, as they waited for Avery to return home, he'd asked quietly, "Is he always this late?"

She'd tried to sugar-coat it, but the answer dropped from her lips like a stone in water.

"Yes."

"Do you mind?"

Hermione had looked at him then. "No," she said, though she wasn't sure how truthful that was. "He deserves the promotion. How can I mind when he's doing exactly what I would be in that situation?"

Sirius played with the handle of his untouched cup.

"I don't like the guy," he said eventually, ignoring Hermione's scowl. "But even I have to admit that he deserves more."

And there was something in her friend's eye (maybe respect? maybe grievance?) that made Hermione think Sirius felt closer to Avery in that moment than he ever had. They were both black sheep, forever tarnished despite the fact they shone with brilliance.

Now, Hermione saw that brilliance slowly seeping out of him, and he eked it for all it was worth. She moved round to rest her hands on Avery's shoulders, gently rubbing the tense knots she found there. He was like a tight coil of apprehension and fatigue, but she felt him melt under her fingers and eventually, he allowed his quill to falter and droop.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" she murmured.

Avery buried his face in his hands, and Hermione ducked to kiss the back of his head.

"I want to be a good person," he whispered, head muffled by his palms.

Hermione's fingers paused and she knelt down beside him, reaching out to touch his wrist. "You are a good person."

"To you," Avery smirked wryly. It was wired and perhaps not as whole as it could be. He peeked at her from behind his hands.

"Yes," she agreed. "And others. Being a good person isn't about how the world perceives you. They're not your jury; they don't get to decide your verdict. It's how _you_ perceive you. You're the Judge. I think you're a good person but what do you think? Do you really think a bad person would do all this?"

She gestured to all his work, the files that lay scattered across his desk to the ones that were piled high, already completed. Each symbolised hope, a step to a fairer and better world. Avery's eyes didn't stray away from her face.

"You make me good," he said softly.

"No," said Hermione, cupping his cheek and swooping up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. "I remind you you're good. There's a difference."

He regarded her for a moment, before something made his eyes flick away, back to his work which he ghosted over with careful fingers.

"My father wasn't a good man," Avery said quietly. "But not a day goes by that I don't wish he was here. He's a murderer and I miss him. What does that say about me?"

"That you're human," replied Hermione, wrapping her arm around his shoulder, resting her chin in the slope of his neck.

He sighed deeply. "Maybe. Whatever it is, it's tiring."

"Yes," she said dryly. "Being a fully-functioning member of society does that to you."

A wiry smirk curled his lips, making them tilt ever so slightly upwards. Hermione still felt it bothering her though, and she asked uncertainly, "Do you really believe you don't deserve to be here?"

His smirk disappeared. Avery was quiet for a long time before he said, "No. I'm just scared it can be all taken away."

His eyes were unsure and wavering when he looked at her, and she realised that he was working so hard for the same reason she always worked so hard in school. It wasn't that he didn't deserve this, he was just so acutely aware of the fact that things had been wrenched from his grasp before, and who's to say they couldn't be again? After all, nothing was guaranteed in this world. You had to fight for it, and even when you got it, you had to fight harder to keep it.

Hermione swallowed, and she leaned her forehead against his. She knew no words could change how crippling his self-doubt was, but she could love him enough that there was no question whether she agreed.

"I won't let that happen," she told him.

He huffed a laugh, and said, "Somehow, I don't doubt it."

When Hermione pulled back to look at him questioningly, Avery elaborated, "Well, you're you, aren't you? You could stop a storm if you tried hard enough, and the thunder would cower at your feet."

She blushed, shaking her head to try and dispel her pleasure at his sincerity, but he stood by the statement, stacking his papers on his desk and getting to his feet.

Avery offered her his hand and said, "Come on, let’s go home."

**oOo**

**January 1985**

They laid in the meadow despite their better judgement and Avery’s grumbling that they would likely freeze to death. Hermione had ignored this, and pointedly stared at him as she’d plopped down on the damp grass, laying back and fighting a shiver as the winter dew soaked her back in seconds.

Avery simply raised an eyebrow before sitting beside her, casting a warming and drying charm on them both. She would pretend this was her plan all along but the victory of having the stubborn Slytherin lying in the middle of a wet meadow in a January as cold and unforgiving as he was, was too sweet and distracting.

His arm was under her head, giving her something comfier than the hard earth, and Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was the warming charm or the heat from his pulsing flesh that made her feel tingly and mellow.

There was a tree over their heads, cutting jagged lines in the grey sky, and whilst the leaves were sparse, they twinkled with dew and frost. The grass kissing their skin was wet and cold, and Hermione vaguely thought it looked to be crying, the water collecting on the tip, making it droop and weep. Every time she breathed, the tears would fall and there would seem that moment of hope where the stems would retain their posture and beam at the bleak sky.

“What do you think of marriage?” asked Avery abruptly.

In her sudden alarm, Hermione shot upright, turning to look at him, not realising that he was doing the same, and their heads clashed violently together. She recoiled, mewling in pain, and Avery swore loudly.

“For fuck’s sake, Granger,” he growled, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “You really know how to spoil things.”

“I just- you _surprised_ me, is all. It’s not a question one usually brings up in casual conversation,” she added nervously.

Avery glared at her. “Would you rather I approach the subject whilst levitating fifty metres in the air?”

“Well, then you’d just look like an idiot,” said Hermione rationally.

He merely scowled at her, as she laid back down across his arm. He remained sitting up, casting his eyes out across the white glade, and she had a feeling it was only to avoid looking at her.

“If you don’t like the idea, you could’ve just said,” he told her.

Hermione swallowed, and she didn’t know why she felt so uncomfortable. “It’s not- I’m not against marriage,” she explained, feeling her entire body heat up despite the fact that it was winter and she was only wearing thin clothes. “In fact, I’d quite like to get married someday.”

“Oh?”

There was only a slight lilt to his voice, informing her he couldn’t really care less, though she suspected he was more interested than what he was letting on.

“Yes, if I was… in love with somebody, then of course I’d want to spend the rest of my life with them.” She cleared her throat. “And yourself?”

Avery was quiet for a moment, before he replied contemplatively, “I suppose I always assumed I’d marry a Pureblood girl. Something my father would arrange, no doubt.”

“And now?” Hermione pressed delicately.

He finally looked down at her, fixed her with a gaze that was as indecipherable as he was, and she wondered what he was thinking behind those dark eyes and long eyelashes. She reached up and held his cheek, just to see if it was as cold as it looked (and it looked like porcelain). He leaned into her touch. She found him burning.

“Now, I’m a little scared,” he murmured.

“Frederic Avery? Scared? That’s unheard of,” teased Hermione breathlessly.

He huffed a laugh. “Exactly. It’s completely unknown territory.”

They both fell quiet for just a moment.

“Why are you scared?” she whispered. Some dew had fallen and threaded itself through the darkness of his hair. It made him look colder, somehow, but she was more than aware of the heat radiating from his body, warming her through.

“Because I’ve never been in control of my own life before,” said Avery. “What happens if I screw it up?”

“You won’t screw it up,” she dismissed, retracting her hand and lacing their fingers together, though she couldn’t help but remember all the times she’d come close to walking out the door, when he did something or said something, and the nights she’d slept alone because he hadn’t come back home.

He shot her a look that clearly said he didn’t believe her.

“You know, it’s really quite appalling that I have more faith in you than you do,” Hermione rolled her eyes, attempting to make light of the situation.

Avery snorted. “No, it’s not. You have more faith in everyone than they have in themselves. It’s one of your hamartias.”

“One of?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, that, and your ability to be absolutely idiotic when it comes to self-sacrificing. You’re quite a liability, really,” he explained.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. “If it wasn’t for my so-called ‘self-sacrificing,’ I doubt you’d be here!”

Avery scoffed. “Oh, there’s no doubt about it. We’d all be dead in a ditch- me, and your little suicide squad.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she told him.

“And yet, you’re still in love with me,” he retorted, and his voice was as light as she had ever heard it.

“Unbelievable, I know,” said Hermione dryly.

They allowed the quiet of the morning to wash over them, bathing them in a sweet and innocent serenity. Hermione relaxed into the ground, closing her eyes and focusing on the way the grass tickled her face, and the frost soaked into her hair and skin.

“Do you love me enough to marry me?”

Her eyes shot open. Avery was watching her intently, face impassive and closed off, but there was an undeniable tenderness there. She found the breath stuck in her throat.

“I do,” she whispered, without missing a beat. “Do you?”

There was a small quirk of his lips. “I do.”

**oOo**

**April 1986**

The marquee was large but cosy; long tables, drenched in white lace tablecloths, ran the length of it, with deep purple petals strewn down the centre, as well as wispy baby’s breath bushes. Despite the seeming mundanity of the wedding, it would not be _theirs_ if there was not the thrill of magic spiking the air. One had to venture with caution as Box was hiding in one of the pots, though no one could remember which one they had seen him in last, and whenever someone brushed the snapdragons dancing in the grass, they would explode like miniature fireworks of incendiary colour.

The crockery held the names of all the guests, along with little doodles that _someone_ (Hermione could probably guess) had charmed to stick all day, depicting the turn of spring, and black dandelion tufts blew in the wind down the plates, whilst the sun rose on a teacup, and a lamb took its first clumsy steps across the bowls. There were also more personal ones for the people they knew and loved: Lily and James each had a deer that would trot over to one or the other’s plate to reunite with its other half, frolicking in the white porcelain before they would soon be swamped with food; the shaggy dog on Sirius’ bowl would chase its own tail every time he tried to fill it, and he shortly gave up, resorting to gushing that the little thing was too cute to cover up; Peter’s eyes were skittish and darting as he grew dizzy watching the rat running around the rim of his teacup; Remus had the moon cycle, and a wolf howling to the stars, though there was something oddly charming every time the full moon shone, and the deer, dog and rat from the other plates would come bounding to meet him.

Regulus’ had been kept simple, and he had taken a few moments to stare quietly at it as a lone figure was joined by others who he recognised as his new family. They would throw their arms around him, and cheer as he was hoisted into the air, and though the creation was silent, he could swear he heard the laughter ringing around his head long after the dinnerware had been cleared away.

On the contrary, Avery seemed less than amused by his depiction. Whilst the snake had elicited a smug smirk from the former Slytherin, his lips had twisted in a grimace once the green scales drained to red, and the snake became ensnared by a golden leash. Hermione had particularly liked that one.

“They’re implying I’m whipped,” he’d stated in affront.

“Are they wrong?” she asked innocently.

Avery’s eyes cut to her. “I am not whipped.”

Hermione shrugged, and said in a voice that was imperceptibly void of emotion, “If you say so, now will you be a dear and pass me the sugar?” though she failed to keep a straight face, for James and Sirius were too busy making whipping noises from along the table as he retrieved the little jar of sugar and handed it to her.

Avery’s face twitched. “Did we really have to invite them?”

“They’re my friends!”

“So? We’re married now. Can’t you just… find new ones?”

“That’s not how this works.”

“You know, I think the world has changed,” interrupted Regulus, and his eyes were so soft when he looked at them, “and then I see you two, and your familiar bickering puts that worry to be almost instantly.”

Hermione had been almost breathless with excitement to look down at her plate, and when she saw it was empty, a frown had marred her pretty face. Then, the air was stolen from her as from behind the handle of her cup, a phoenix of the most brilliant red soared, swooping over the undiscovered space of the table and reappearing to dance across the white sky of her plate. It looked remarkably like Fawkes, and she swore it winked at her when she stared for a moment longer.

“How fitting,” Avery had commented quietly, eyes similarly entranced with the spectacle.

There was a large tree in the very middle of the space, standing proud and tall, with its branches full to burst, stretching along the veins of the tent to hold it in place. Woven around the leaves were yellow fairy lights, strung high and they fluttered every now and then, as though they were alive. The floor was open, and the grass tickled their ankles when they moved, and the blissful sun trilled above them, rejoicing at the ephemeral happiness of those present, and the utter tangibility of it all. As night fell, the fabric of the marquee shifted to mirror the sky above, and the stars billowed down on them, planets disappearing in the ripples, galaxies becoming lost in the moment.

They held one another close as they danced. Hermione let her dress drape behind her. She had gone simple, white and whimsical, with a fitted bodice that unfurled into an airy tulle skirt. Embroidery of lavender-bush flowers and verdant vines were planted in her ribs, exploring the swell of her breasts and dip of her collarbones to kiss her neck. Avery had worn white, and it was not a colour she had ever expected to see on him, though she still trailed off when she glanced at him, for his dark hair and long eyelashes made him look like some sort of angel.

His arms were wrapped firmly around her, and her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. Avery glanced at the top of her head. It was so hard to remember what his life had been like before Hermione Granger had fired her spells and forced her way into it. It hadn’t always been doom and gloom, but the thunderstorms reigning overhead had seemed obdurate and the threat of death had loomed over him. It wasn’t that Avery hated life, or living. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed it. It’s just that sometimes, he forgot that an existence was valuable if there was no reason for it.

_Why do you live?_

I didn’t used to know.

She lifted her chin to peer up at him, and he was struck again with how lucky he was. This girl loved him. And she loved him despite everything that he'd done, despite the pain and the darkness; she loved him because she'd bared witness to all of that and yet she still saw a flicker of light within him.

Avery never thought his heart would brush off its cobwebs, the rusted cogs breathed life into after an eternity of immobility. He never thought he'd be allowed to be happy, but the witch in front of him made him happy.

He leaned down to kiss her, relishing in the way he could taste her pulse on her lips.

_Why do you live?_

_For her._

**oOo**

**May 1990**

The cries filled the room, and they seemed to break through everything that had ever existed before them.

It was odd that the sunlight sifted curiously through the slit in the curtains, whilst Avery sat by the bed, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were going white. He had been sitting there for hours now, only Merlin knew, and whilst he had barely moved, his entire body felt on edge, like he’d just run for miles, or flown through a storm.

Hermione laid in bed, thin blanket strewn across her top half, legs stretched open and the Healer remained by her feet, coaxing her into the final stages of her pregnancy.

Every now and then, Avery would lean his head against hers, murmuring words of encouragement, and even though she gritted her teeth and, more often than not, told him to “Shut the fuck up and do this for me then!” he knew she was in pain and let it slide.

“You’re nearly there,” he soothed quietly, stroking her damp hair. “So close. You’ve done so well, Hermione.”

Another scream was ripped from her lips and she screwed her eyes shut, throwing her head back into the pillow. When she opened her eyes, she fixed him with a withering glare.

“This is all your fault,” she gasped.

He raised an eyebrow, but his fingers did not stop their ministration. “My fault?”

“Yes,” Hermione grimaced in pain. “If only you’d kept it in your pants.”

Avery’s mouth dropped open despite himself and he exclaimed, “ _You_ jumped _me_.”

“And your mouth shut!”

Nevertheless, he had kept his mouth shut, but his hand had not left hers. He remembered the day she’d told him as though it were just moments ago. He had returned home to hear singing. This had surprised him for a number of reasons, though none that he could entirely explain. Hermione had swayed into the kitchen, hair messily atop her head, bowl in hand as she mixed what looked like cake batter. She was still singing, and the tune was soft and lulling, and Avery had felt his lips tilt at her. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt, so he made sure to be quiet as he sat at their little dining table, and watched her.

The dress she wore was bright and mellow for the end of August, as the sun slowly drew within the ever-clouding sky, and the temperature dropped a few degrees each time they stepped outside, and yet Avery thought she made it feel like summer was only just beginning.

Eventually, he felt a yearning to hear her voice and see the softness of her eyes when she looked at him. “You’re awfully happy,” he said.

Hermione jumped, clutching the bowl to her chest so she wouldn’t drop it, and she spun to face him. Surely enough, her eyes softened.

“You startled me,” she laughed. “You’re not supposed to be home for another hour.”

Avery leaned back in his chair. “Well, I wanted to see you.”

She beamed at him, and though he’d seen her just that morning, for some reason, he thought she looked to glow. He held out his arms for her, and she wasted no time in placing the bowl on the table, and wrapping her arms around his neck. He breathed her in, holding her close.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her skin. Avery felt her chest buzz when she laughed.

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“Several.”

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, and he felt her sigh contentedly.

“I never thought I’d get to grow old,” she said, and he pulled back so he could look at her. “Honestly, I never thought I’d live to get married.”

Avery brushed his thumb along her cheek. “It’s a good thing you were wrong,” he said, eyes dark and sincere.

Her entire face broke out into a blinding smile then, and she leaned her head against his, squeezing his jaw. “Freddie,” she whispered, and the laugh that bubbled from her lips broke into a sob. “I’m pregnant.”

He stopped. His heart sped up in his chest.

“What?” he murmured.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Hermione beamed at him, and she was crying, and then she was kissing his face and it was only when he felt her lips touch his skin that he realised he was crying too. Avery didn’t waste another second and he jumped to his feet, tightening his arms around her and lifting her into the air. Her laugh was loud and euphoric, bouncing around their kitchen.

He slid her down to place her back on the floor, cupping her face with his hands, and pressing a kiss to her lips before he said, “We’re going to have a baby.”

As it turned out, the baby was not as excited as they were. In fact, he seemed to rather reluctant to be born, which is why they had been in this position for hours and why Avery’s hand felt like it was about to wither and drop off.

And then- the first cries- cutting through the rest of the world, rendering it silent, causing it to slip away-

Avery felt his breath trickle from his lips as he stared at the Healer. He didn’t think it was possible that he could hold Hermione’s hand any tighter.

The Healer smiled, cupping the baby’s head, conjuring a small blanket to wrap him in. “Congratulations,” she smiled gently. “You have a little baby boy.”

She passed him to Avery, who held him daintily, as though he might shatter or break if he moved too abruptly. Hermione’s head fell backwards, and a long, laboured breath escaped her. She titled her face to look at them, and a sleepy smile curled her lips.

Avery swallowed.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had never felt love like this. This tiny thing, barely able to open his eyes, made of all the same genes and dust as his father, and the blood and brain of his mother, he was everything Avery had never dared to dream of, because he never thought it would be his. He pressed a kiss to his son’s head, closing his eyes to stop the tears blurring them.

Avery handed him over to his mother, whose face softened at the sight of him.

“Hello sunshine,” she breathed, smiling when he blinked up at her. “You were such a pain, you know that? Don’t tell me you’re taking after your father already. He was a pain too.”

She tucked her arm underneath, pulling him as close as was humanely possible, melding him against her heart. Hermione nuzzled her cheek against the top of her baby’s head.

“You weren’t a walk in the park yourself, Granger,” he replied teasingly.

“Avery,” she corrected.

Her eyes shone at the look of wonderment on his face.

“I got married, you know,” said Hermione, lips trembling from trying to stifle her grin.

“So you did, Mrs Avery,” he said. “I heard he’s quite the catch.”

She shrugged. “I could probably do better.”

Avery’s eyes narrowed at her, and she laughed a little, but they both fell silent as the baby between them, their own flesh and bounding nerve, hiccupped loudly.

“Have you got any names in mind?” asked Avery, reaching over and his son wrapped his chubby, tiny hand around one of his fingers.

Hermione considered him. “What about Pan?”

Avery looked at her. He knew the name meant more than what met the eye. He knew it meant hardship and war, a dark so obdurate and a death so looming that you could feel the ticking crocodile of time breathing down your neck…

But it also meant hope. It meant children would get to grow old, and they would be loved and safe. It meant happiness, and a future.

“It’s perfect,” he told her sincerely.

Suddenly, Pan hiccupped again, and this time a little bubble appeared, floating high above their heads. They both watched it in surprise.

“Already?” exclaimed Hermione.

Avery smirked. “Well, he is our son. What did you expect?”

“I sure hope he gets your modesty too,” she replied sarcastically.

Though secretly, Hermione was proud. Her family could never be dull. They were full of surprises. They were golden.

**oOo**

**September 1991**

"Hands off my wife, Black," a voice drawled and Avery came to stand beside her. He was infinitely tall, and dark, with black hair that skimmed his cheekbones and long eyelashes framing his eyes. His face was pale, a wedge of finely sculpted marble. He was still beautiful. If anything, Avery seemed to have grown more beautiful with age. He knew it as well. Though not smug, he carried himself with an air of sophistication and poise. She often found it difficult to tear her eyes away from him when they snagged for more than a second. His hand found hers, and he sent her a smile.

Sirius pulled a face. Even after ten years, their relationship did nothing but disgust him. Avery seemed to know this for his lips were curled upwards with the ghost of a smirk.

Sirius pointed warningly at him. "You're only on the Christmas card list because you're married to one of my best friends," he said.

Avery's smirk became a full-on grin. "I look forward to this year's. I particularly liked your satire of Father Christmas' elf. Though I can't say green does wonders for your complexion."

Sirius' eyes widened dramatically and he demanded, "I'll have you know, it brings out the green in my eyes!"

Avery raised an eyebrow. Sirius narrowed said eyes, though there was no real animosity lurking in them. He suddenly spied Dorcas and Emmeline, emerging from the barrier, with their two children (they had adopted a brother and sister who had been made orphans during the war) and went to meet them. Hermione waved, though didn't go with him. Dorcas winked at her.

Hermione turned to her husband, thwacking him hard. He looked at her reproachfully.

"You do know how to wind him up," she berated.

Avery raised his eyebrows. "It's purely friendly banter."

She scoffed, though allowed him to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer.

"The desire to murder me has not been in his dark, pretty eyes since our fourth wedding anniversary."

Hermione looked at him in exasperation.

"We've only been married four years," she pointed out.

"Exactly. His rage at me marrying you is long gone."

Though he spoke matter-of-factly, Hermione recognised the lightness of his voice and couldn't help but laugh. He smiled, pressing a kiss to her nose. She leaned into his chest.

A thought struck her then, causing her eyebrows to furrow deeply and she drew back and demanded, “Where is he?”

Avery sighed, but humoured her regardless. He raised his eyebrows. “Where’s who?”

"Pan." Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Our son?”

He raised his chin in realisation and said calmly, “His Godfather has him.”

“Is that a good idea?”

As if on cue, Regulus came speeding towards them. Above his head, controlled by his magic which stemmed from the wand held tightly in his hands, was a baby, soaring and flying around people. The baby had a tuft of dark hair and was giggling, squealing and smiling happily. Every time he laughed, a bubble would hiccup from his toothless beam, flying until it popped. 

He was wearing a fluffy lion suit, complete with tail and mane, and Hermione smiled proudly when she saw it.

Avery rolled his eyes, lip curling. "What is he still doing in that?"

Pan's eyes lit up when they saw her, and he seemed to move faster towards them, causing Regulus to walk quicker, tripping over cages and loose cases in his haste to keep up.

He grinned when he caught sight of them and sang, "Peter Pan! Peter Pan! Fly away to Neverland!"

Hermione held her arms out and Pan flew straight into them. She held him close to her chest, and he nuzzled his head into her cheek. 

"What have I told you about flying him with magic?" she demanded when Regulus stopped.

Though sheepish, he was too joyfully exhausted to care about this reprimanding and shrugged. "I only dropped him once."

"Onto a pile of blankets," Avery supplied, offering his son one of his fingers to clutch. At the glare Hermione shot him, he turned to Regulus and said sternly, "Though that is one too many. You could've killed my only son! Who would pass on the family name?"

She pursed her lips and said, "You're not very good at this."

That was a lie, of course. He was extremely good at fatherhood, and the smirk he gave her told her he knew it.

Regulus adopted a solemn face and said sincerely, "I apologise profusely, Hermione. I promise to not drop and kill your son until he's passed on the family name."

Avery pointed at him. He said, "See. He's learning."

Hermione scowled and thwacked the pair of them. Pan clapped his little hands. 

Regulus craned his neck back, eyes roving the platform. His brow furrowed and he asked, “You haven’t seen my brother, have you?”

“Over by that pillar. You see?” she supplied, pointing in the direction of Sirius. Sure enough, he was stood with Dorcas and Marlene and Benjy, who must have arrived shortly before.

He followed her finger and his eyes lit up. Hermione felt her heart flutter.

“Thanks,” Regulus said, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and one on Pan’s head, before he bounded off, weaving his way back through the crowd to jump on his brother.

Avery looked at his son. "That reminds me," he said, and tapped his head with the tip of his wand. The lion suit he was wearing morphed into that of a snake, with felt scales. He brushed Pan's hair back with a smile. "That's better."

Hermione frowned.  “It’s not better.”

“Weren’t you just playing advocate for House Equality?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked at him.

“You heard that?”

Avery scoffed. “Of course I heard that.” He paused for a second, swallowing, before he added, “I also saw you with Lucius’ son. Does this mean you’ll agree to meet him now? You know, I can only give him so many excuses before he questions why he hasn’t formally met his best friend’s wife.”

Hermione rubbed her thumb across his knuckles and said delicately, “I know. I just didn’t know how I’d react… seeing Draco again.”

She pushed back the hood of the snake outfit Pan was wearing, caressing his baby-soft cheek. Avery was watching her carefully. “You still haven’t told me why that is.”

A wry smile curled her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“It’s been ten years and I haven’t pressed,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” replied Hermione. “So you can wait a bit longer.”

He didn’t seem amused by her, though she still grinned at him. A slight frown creased the space between his eyebrows when he asked, in a quiet voice, “Will you ever tell me?”

Hermione thought about it. It was only a moment of pondering, but the platform seemed to stop entirely. There were still moments when the world broke, and fractured, and she would have to remind herself that she could breathe. There were still nights that she woke up screaming, or that she couldn’t sleep at all. She was still haunted, the nightmares kept their claws embedded within her, though she knew their grip was relinquishing.

She looked at him, and smiled, because it really wasn’t that difficult a decision at all. “One day,” she promised. “I’ll tell you all. I’ll tell you how we all survived, and what we sacrificed-”

“But not yet,” he finished for her.

She just smiled, holding Pan close against her chest. He snuggled into her. “No. It’s a darkness that I have no desire to release yet.”

Avery looked exasperated. He said, “I’m quite accustomed to darkness, Hermione. I grew up in it. I fought for it, remember?”

Hermione just stared at him, throat tight. “Not this kind of darkness.”

**oOo**

**December 1992**

“-and then, all of a sudden, Robert finally knocks his brain into place to do something useful and the troll’s club goes _flying_  out of its hands, up into the air, before- oh, no thank you Molly, I’ve just had a cream slice-”

“Mum! Stop interrupting! You’re ruining the story!”

“I can’t very well let a guest starve, Ronald. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Honestly, Ron, it’s fine. Where was I? Oh, yes. So Robert drops its own club onto its head! And Henry is _still_ clinging onto its neck, even as it starts swaying, and it lunges forwards, falling flat onto its face, and Henry is _still_ gripping on for dear life!”

The two boys sitting in front of her roared with laughter, so audaciously they had to clutch at their stomachs. They were young, and their youth dripped from the ceilings, bouncing around The Burrow’s living room and drenching all who heard it in that blissful remembrance.

Hermione leaned back into the settee, smile curling her lips but it faltered. It was at times like these that she felt some small twinge of regret. She had lived two lifetimes within the span of one, witnessed the dawning of three timelines when others had barely seen the sun rise in their own. But as she sat on the squashed cushions at The Burrow, igniting the air with tales of her past, Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though she was merely jogging the memory of the two who had experienced those adventures with her.

For sitting at her feet were two boys she had never thought she’d ever see again. Harry Potter was still that scrawny twelve year old, with hair that never laid flat, and eyes the colour of the grass in spring. He was still that vessel of uncontainable triumph, of brash grins shared when things finally went their way, and curiosity that filled him to the brim and spilled over his circular glasses. He was still the best friend, the brother, she had known and loved.

Only, this time round, _he_ was loved. He was tucked in by his parents, and the monsters under his bed were checked for by his father every night, without fail. He was kissed by his mother every morning, afternoon and night, and surrounded by uncles who spoiled him rotten and viewed him as the thing that kept the world spinning.

It was funny to think, that in a different timeline, he was.

Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, was exactly the same.

He was gangly and tall, with a nose too long for his face and hair too bright for the paleness of his skin and freckles so abundant his cheeks looked permanently flushed. He was still bold and blunt and insecure and cocky; that contradictory firework he thrived as, short circuiting every time someone lit his fuse, with a temper to blow erratically.

He was the boy she had once fallen in love with, the boy she had seen die. Hermione felt her heart break just a little when she looked at him. But he was alive now- that’s all that mattered.

She told them these stories every time she saw them, stories of a life they would never get to live because the world was much brighter now, and the future was as uncertain as the past had once been. The awe in their eyes, shining and splendid, made her warm because they should be proud. They would be great men, and maybe things were different now, maybe death wasn’t clipping their heels, but they were still Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley and they were incredible. She just knew it.

“Tell us another, Hermione!” begged Harry, those familiar eyes wide and insistent. “Please!”

She laughed, conceding easily. She could never say no to them. They seemed to be her weakness.

Hermione thought for a moment. “Have I told you about the one where they escaped Gringotts on a dragon?”

Judging by the way their eyes lit up, she guessed she had not.

“They really were in quite a pickle. There were wizards firing from every angle, left, right and centre!” On cue, Sirius conjured up little men, made of sparks, and their makeshift magic soared over the boys’ heads. Hermione grinned at him. He tipped his head.

“They’d got what they came for, and that hadn’t been easy… but then again, breaking into the safest and soundest fortress in the country wouldn’t exactly be a breeze. There seemed to be no way out, but just as Henry and Robert were about to start fighting back, Hera concocted something brilliant. Crazy, yes, but admittedly brilliant. Without a warning, she _launched_ herself from the balcony and grabbed onto the dragon’s scales-”

There was a knock at the door.

Molly stopped her bustling in the kitchen to answer it. Lily and James were laughing with Benjy and Marlene, and James was absently stroking his daughter’s long hair from where she stood at his side, whilst Sirius, arm casually hooked around the back of Remus’ chair, watched the story from the table. Dorcas and Emmeline were also there, as well as Caradoc, and the twins. The Order, loosely interwoven because of their alliance during the war, were a family- a large and dysfunctional family, but a family nevertheless.

“Poppet, you’re gonna give these kiddiewinks nightmares,” Fabian teased, grin electric.

“What can I say?” she replied. “It’s a strength of mine: scarring people for life.”

Caradoc smirked a little. “I feel like that is a grand understatement.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she demanded indignantly, “I saved you, didn’t I?”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “That you did,” he agreed. “That probably goes for most of us here.”

She snorted. “Try all of you.”

Avery covered Pan’s little ears, and said, “And you’re scared he’ll get arrogance from me?”

Hermione scowled at him, but she let him wrap an arm around her shoulder anyway and pull her into his warm side.

“Where do you get these stories from?” Avery murmured, bouncing Pan on his knee absently. The little boy had grown dark ringlets, though his golden eyes were clearly his mother’s. He was babbling away, shoving his fingers in his mouth every once in a while.

Hermione smiled. “A timeline locked away, to which only I have the key.”

“It sounds like quite a life.”

She hummed. “It was. But so is this.”

“-just in time, dear!” Mrs Weasley was saying cheerfully before she called, “Ron! Harry! Your friend is here!”

Hermione raised her eyes to the door and she felt her heart stop in her chest.

She did not know why it did this, for she had seen things that most would deem more improbable, but even so, she felt time slow down a little when she saw the young girl.

The girl was only thirteen, though she looked much younger. Her hair was bushy and light, lighter than Hermione’s, and her teeth dug into her bottom lip slightly. She was small but strong, and she bounced on her feet, though Hermione recognised the spark in her eyes, the perpetual awe at this magical world. She had her mother’s eyelashes and her father’s nose. She had Hermione’s eyes.

“Oh, come on, you need to meet Hermione!” Harry exclaimed after he’d hugged the newcomer, and he dragged her over to the older witch.

“Hi,” the girl said. There was not an ounce of shyness in her being, and Hermione delighted a little at the information. “I’m Helen.”

Hermione stared at her, and the smile curled her lips before she could stop it. "Like Helen of Troy."

The little girl's face lit up, a beam that made her hazel eyes twinkle. "Exactly! My mum always liked the story. Both my parents love mythology, but especially that one!”

Hermione felt her heart skip a bit. “You know, my parents did too. That’s why I’m named after Hermes, the-”

“Messenger God!”

The two stared at each other for just a second longer, and Hermione swore something shifted. In time. Maybe. Maybe even in herself.

“Tell the troll one again, please Hermione,” said Ron eagerly, making sure Helen was listening, as they sat back down on the carpet by the fire. “It’s my favourite.”

Hermione faltered, and for some reason, she felt her throat clench. She smiled and said, “It’s my favourite too.” She paused, taking a moment to recollect herself, before her heart settled, content in her chest, and she began, “There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them…”

**oOo**

**1999**

Time had not been kind to them.

Of course it hadn’t.

It had chewed them up and spat them out. It had swallowed them whole and engulfed them in a darkness so obdurate not even the light could break it. It had made them think there was no hope left in the world.

But then, it had also been gentle.

Like the break of day after a storm, when the clouds open up and the sunlight pours through. They had received their sunlight, not in ounces or hours, but _years._ Despite it all, time had given them a second chance.

To some, it had even given a third.

Hermione felt the sun lazily soak into her skin, dousing her in warmth and mellowness. She didn’t move, just leaned back on her hands, relishing in the way the grass tickled her skin, and listening to the way her breaths were steady and free.

The serenity was short-lived, though, and she sensed him sneaking up behind her long before he pounced. Hermione simply flicked her finger, and her eldest son was hoisted up and hung upside down in mid-air.

She tipped her head back to look up at him. He grinned impishly.

“That’s not fair,” he stated.

Pan’s nine years hung from his frame mischievously. His dark hair had long since lightened and it was now golden curls that kissed his eyes and glinted in the sun. She already knew he would be a Gryffindor.

He wasn’t stealthy enough to be Slytherin.

“Neither was creeping up on an innocent civilian,” Hermione told him smoothly.

He scoffed, a habit he’d picked up from his father, much to her chagrin. “You’re not innocent,” he said. “Dad’s told me what you’ve done.”

She raised her eyebrow, inwardly cursing her snake of a husband. “And what have I done?”

“You’ve ridden dragons.”

The statement surprised her, and she jabbed her finger so her boy was upright again with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I also defeated the world’s most evil dark wizard, but of course, _dragons_ is what impresses you,” said Hermione dryly, and she patted the ground. Pan grinned at her again, throwing himself down beside her. He laid on his back, staring up at the blue sky, and she ran her fingers through his hair, wondering when he got so big.

“I’m sure I’ve told you this story before,” she murmured.

Pan shook his head. “No, but Harry has. And Ron. You’ve told me the giant snake one.”

“And it didn’t give you nightmares?” she questioned, surprised.

“No,” he responded proudly. “I’m not scared.”

“I was,” Hermione said. She thought for a moment. “What about the time I broke into the Ministry of Magic?”

Pan shot up at that. He looked at her in astonishment. “Definitely not.”

It was only then that she realised her mistake. Her eyes widened. “And nor should I! Oh dear God, you’re not supposed to know about that!”

He sucked his lips into his mouth to try and hide his smile, but eventually mimed zipping them closed, and throwing away the key.

Hermione watched him wearily.

“You certainly can’t tell your father-”

“Can’t tell me what?”

Frederic Avery appeared behind the pair of them suddenly, blocking out the only sunshine that trickled through the leaves of the tree above their heads. He was holding their youngest son, who kept mashing his head into his father’s neck. Avery raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” both Hermione and Pan said immediately. Then, they shared a glance and started laughing. Pan hiccupped and a bubble escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Avery sighed. “It irritates me to no end that he’s so Gryffindor.”

Pan sobered up at that, and he looked between his parents. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked unsurely.

As Hermione said, “No,” Avery replied, deadpanned, “ _Yes_.”

She shot him a glare. “No, sweetheart,” she soothed, stroking his golden hair. “I was in Gryffindor. Only the brave go there-”

“And the insurmountably annoying.”

“And yet, you married me,” Hermione reminded him in mock-wonder.

Avery pulled a face, sitting beside them on the grass, and propping the four year old between his legs so he wouldn’t lick his face any longer. “I know. I’m still trying to figure out what higher power-”

“It was my disarming wit,” she informed her son knowingly. He nodded in agreement.

“-ever compelled me to do so. I clearly wasn’t in a right frame of mind-”

“I’m sure you’ve inherited it,” Hermione patted him on the shoulder, ignoring her husband’s tirade. Pan just laughed, laying back down and reaching out to play with his brother.

Their third and youngest child had been a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. The problem was, they had already named a child each, and could not seem to come to an agreement.

Avery had been hell-bent on naming their new-born son Frederic Jr, to which Hermione had adamantly and bluntly replied, "We are not naming him after you."

"Hermione-"

"No! You weren't the one that had to carry him inside of you for nine months then push it through your-"

"Alright! Point taken. We're not calling him Frederic."

Regulus, as Godfather, had suggested they name him after a constellation, like the Black family were known for. She’d meant it sincerely, though her smugness had been far too apparent when she had said Leo. Avery had been less than amused though had settled for Leo, under the condition he could pick out his middle name.

In conclusion, Leo Draco Avery epitomised the clash of his two parents and their very different backgrounds, though perhaps summarised their hubristic stubbornness more effectively.

Their middle child had been the daughter Hermione had always dreamed of. Seven years old and already, she had taken her into the Ministry and pinned Werewolf Rights badges onto her little pinafore dresses. She was an avid reader, a curious mind that saw each of life’s steps as a deceptively thrilling puzzle.

“Mum! Mummy!”

Hermione turned around to see Wendy running towards them, blue summer dress flying behind her. She was holding a teapot, her dark eyes wide and worried.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked when she got closer, sitting up.

“I lost him again,” exclaimed Wendy glumly. Hermione didn’t even have to question.

She sighed, patting Pan’s knee and said, “Box is missing again. Go help your sister find him. And if you do, your father will take you flying tomorrow,” she added at his groan.

“I will?” Avery asked pleasantly.

“You love taking them flying, be quiet.”

Their two eldest children raced back into the house, and they both watched them quietly, feeling that sense of content embrace their bones.

“Are you sure it’s wise to send your children on an Occamy hunt?”

Hermione huffed. “Oh, they’re _my_ children now, are they?” She cast her eyes back at them, catching just a glimpse of their golden hair before they disappeared into the house. “Besides, I was fighting Voldemort when I was just a few years older. They’ll be fine.”

They both relaxed into the lull of their garden once more, feeling the sun drench them, and the breeze nuzzle into their skin. Hermione’s eyes followed Leo as he wandered amongst the flowers, attention captivated by a large white butterfly.

"Remember, all those years ago, when you asked me how I did it?" 

Avery looked at her, a small frown creasing the space between his eyebrows. He nodded silently. 

Hermione smiled. "It was because of you. When everything was dark, I'd look around and you'd be there, the only thing still standing tall. My little bit of goodness. You were my light." 

His face softened, dark eyes growing gentle, lips parting. He drew her towards him, pressing a kiss to her temple, and Hermione closed her eyes. 

She had never thought that sunlight was something you could bathe in. Perhaps bask in, or lounge beneath, but not be encompassed entirely in the infinite warmth of a star that had witnessed the creation of life itself. But Avery's arms around her, his heart beating steadily in his chest, and the love she was consumed in; all of it felt like liquid sunshine. She had dreamt of this life, of happiness that blinded you, and a love that set you on fire. 

And yet, she had never thought it would be quite like this. 

Like bliss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Once more, and I KNOW I sound like a broken record but my gratitude for you all can never properly be conveyed, thank you so much.   
> If you want to read this as a stand-alone fic, it’s called Bliss on my profile, or I’m currently writing another Marauders fic called The Marauders (original, I know!) which is their story, as canon as I dare to make it. It will be dark, and there will be lots of scenes stolen from TL but it’s focusing on their lives, and the intricacies of youth, love, loyalty and friendship.   
> I hope this epilogue answered any questions you still had!! If not, feel free to message me and I can tell you what happened to any characters you may be wondering about! 
> 
> A little more information about Hermione and Avery’s children:
> 
> Pan was definitely sorted in Gryffindor, no doubt about it. He was bold and rash and brave and kind, and would probably have a lot of Hufflepuff in him too. The hat barely touched his head before it decided.
> 
> Wendy was Ravenclaw, taking after both her parents’ brains, though she was sneakier than both her brothers combined. She scored highest on all of her tests, and was a certain Professor Lupin’s favourite student. 
> 
> Leo, and you know this was the bitterest form of irony, was sorted into Slytherin in a heartbeat, much to his father’s delight. He was quick and sharp witted, and ambitiously bright- and absolutely adored his Godfather. 
> 
> And, to Hermione’s surprise, they lived happily ever after.


End file.
